Slavery For Daphene
by F.E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - Lady on a Leash 

The man at the desk was absorbed with the documents he scanned, making 
notations here and there before turning the page. He appeared quite 
oblivious to the decapitated head of a girl which rested on the surface of 
polished oak just beyond the phone. It was a head entirely lovely even 
though no body was visible of the rest of the girl. The lips were sulky, the 
eyes flashed in indignation, and from time to time it shook the mop of dark 
hair cascading around the lovely face to rest upon the polished surface of 
the desk. It was as though she hoped that by this motion, the only motion 
possible to a severed head, to break the man's preoccupation with his work 
and compel his attention. Failing in this endeavor the sulky lips broke into 
speech. 

"Greg, I suppose you know you're being an absolute bastard leaving me here 
like this. I though you loved me." 

"I indeed love you, dear girl. But you really must allow me to finish what 
I'm doing before giving you further attention. Or would you like to be 
gagged?" 

"No, I don't want to be gagged. I think it's a horrible thing to do to a 
girl. What I want is to be released from this beastly situation you've fixed 
me in. And I don't see why you had to tie my hands behind my back and make 
me kneel the way I have to. My knees are hurting something awful. For 
goodness sake, get me out of this." 

The male deliberately failed to meet the angry eyes. But did wave a 
negligent hand as if dismissing the feminine complaint as of no consequence. 
"Daphene, my sweet, you've said that several times already. You must learn 
to be a good girl and be patient." 

"Patient, my ass!" One sensed rather than saw the angry struggles of a girl 
who's head was visible while the rest of her loveliness was secured fastened 
within the darkness of the desk, a desk cleverly designed for the purpose it 
now served. It was easy to imagine the twistings of her bound wrists, and 
the futile efforts of her legs to find comfort from their pain. Above the 
wooden surface, her face reflected preoccupation with the effort. There was 
a circular hole, obviously measured to a precise fit, buffed and polished so 
the captive neck need suffer no more discomfort then its owner inflicted by 
the motions going on below. Those motions suddenly stopped as Daphene's 
voice took over. 

"And why do I have be naked? And why have you tied my elbow together as well 
as my wrists? Greg, you're being an absolute brute!" 

"Girls love it. Stop beefing." The lush red lips returned to the fray. "Stop 
pretending to be busy, you're doing it just to aggravate me and to give you 
an excuse to keep me here like this so you can take a lustful look any time 
you feel like it. I suppose you feel it's more polite than just looking 
outright at a helpless girl. Greg, please, please!" 

"Sorry, sweetheart, I wouldn't dream of spoiling anything so beautiful. You 
probably don't know it but you really are a sight for sore eyes. And the 
pulse. Go ahead and struggle, you look so damned cute when you do." 

Daphene sniffed disgustedly. "Compliment me all you want but just let me 
go." 

"You're my prisoner and you'll stay that way. Even after we're married I'll 
keep you prettily handcuffed. You'll probably never get to wear clothes 
again. Stop being a shrew and enjoy. You know you love the whole thing." 

"I don't. I hate it. I'm hurting." 

"The gag is in the draw, darling. Would you like me to use it?" 

"You're deliberately frustrating me to bits." Daphene's voice was not 
cheerful. "Every way I turn, that is if I could turn, you've got me foxed! 
I'll never marry you, not after what you're doing to me today. I don't think 
you love me the least bit." 

"I love you very much. I'm obsessed with the beautiful face that you're 
making flushed and angry. And I am equally obsessed by all those lovely 
treasures down inside the desk. Darling, you've got the most beautiful 
breasts of any girl I've ever seen. I'll never part with them." 

Daphene sniffed. "You can't, they're not detachable. I suppose you're 
talking about the complete package. I don't see how you can love my breasts 
and then do this to me. If you keep me fastened like this much longer, I'll 
get frightened and have hysterics. You wouldn't enjoy that at all, 
hysterical girls are not the least bit erotic." Daphene paused as if 
considering a fresh approach. "Didn't you invite me out this evening? 
Weren't we going to dinner at that place we like so much?" 

"We still are, my precious. I'm proud of you in public, you're so gorgeous." 

"You mean you'd risk escorting me out in public when you know damned well 
I'll run away." Daphene's tone was pure disbelief. 

"You won't run away, you know damned well you won't." Greg had put down the 
papers on his desk and was giving his lovely prisoner his full attention. 
"You know you wouldn't abandon me to a lonely dinner, and you know you can't 
escape so long as I can place a hand on you. Or would you like me to put the 
restrainer on you? The one we used about a month ago?" 

"You mean that horrible steel belt that compels me to have a wasp waist? And 
has that serrated edges to make sure it hurts?" Daphene sniffed again. "You 
know what you can do with that." 

"It's effective, darling. It keeps you nicely aware of a situation you have 
a tendency to forget." 

"Never mind, don't bother. Rather than wear that awful thing again, I'll do 
what you call 'behave myself.' That's what I mean about you always having me 
foxed. You've got an answer to everything. It would serve you right if I did 
marry you and made your life miserable. Look here, Greg, if you're willing 
to let me out of here, I'll let bygones be bygones. Come on, have a heart. 
For Pete's sake get me out of this." 

"Bygones are always bygones," he said as he grinned, enjoying to the full 
his girlfriend's dissatisfaction with her lot. He chuckled, "Speaking of 
reminders and restraints, sweetheart, I've always wondered why you haven't 
questioned me about that delightful object hanging on the wall. I would have 
thought you would be curious." 

"You mean that beastly riding crop? I suppose that's what it is. Well, I 
don't want to know about that and I wish you'd put it away out of sight." 

"I think it's time I explained it's function, dear. You're a big girl now 
and can face the faces of life. That riding crop is for the purpose of 
whipping your bottom. Your pretty, beautifully rounded bottom. Hurts a lot 
and when I use it on you, you'll have some cause for complaint. It's very 
different than a couple of tender knees." 

The lovely head on the desk was suddenly motionless. Daphene had expected 
his declaration but it was nonetheless a shock. It was probably just an idle 
threat but she could not be sure. With Greg she could never be sure about 
things like that. Staring at his eyes, she declared, "You wouldn't dare! 
That would hurt me and you know it!" 

"Yes I will, daring, and on your bare skin. I've been entirely too tolerant 
of your moods and lack of discipline. You've often needed a touch of the 
whip." 

"A touch!?" Daphene's voice was heavily loaded with concern. "What do you 
mean by a touch?" 

"I've made a little list for your guidance, darling. The minimum inflictions 
on your delightful contours would be, let us say, ten strokes. From there it 
rises in multiples of ten so we have twenty, thirty, forty, or even fifty. 
But do remember, darling, such severity would be only when you give good 
cause." 

"You mean when I sting your ego? And tell you a few unpleasant truths?" 
Daphene was evidently more concerned than previously. "You've frightened me, 
Greg, tell me, please tell me, you're not going to use that horrible thing 
on me." 

"The die is cast, dear girl. From now on that beautiful object hanging on 
the wall will be very much a part of your life. Seeing it hanging there will 
be a constant reminder. And if I have an occasion to inflict upon you a sore 
and tender seat you may even remember it several days. Would you like me to 
read you the list?" 

"Please don't. And I'd like to tell you where to shove that beastly list. 
Look here, Greg, if whipping my bottom or any other part of me is to be a 
part of my treatment in the future, you call it training, don't you, then 
I'm going to leave you for sure. We'll have dinner tonight the way you 
promised but then I'll say goodbye. Damn it, you don't give a girl a break 
at all." 

They stared at each other, the man in total command and the girl terribly 
aware of possessing only her voice as a weapon. And that was a weapon which 
was not always an effective defense. She was kneeling as she was now in the 
tight clasp of the wooden desk and the ropes he had placed upon her arms 
because of some imprudent words uttered the day before. Greg's pride was 
easily wounded and his ego inflated or inflamed by shrewd feminine words. 
Daphene had always known herself vulnerable but now was doubly so and 
wiggled unhappily once more at bound wrists. The posture in which she was 
held was bad enough but she knew from experience things could always get 
worse. Timidly she ventured, "Well, since I don't have anything to say about 
anything, I'm not going to argue about your damned riding crop. But you did 
make me curious when you said that if I married you, you'd keep me 
handcuffed always. I don't see how that's possible. You didn't really mean 
that, did you?" 

"Of course. A girl with her hands cuffed in front can do most things she 
needs to do. And I'm always around to help. Or if you want a pretty French 
maid who will act as your personal attendant, as well as being a stern 
mistress when you need it, I know such a girl. She would make a wonderful 
lady's maid. Would you like to meet her?" 

"No, I wouldn't. That sounds awful. But I've always been puzzled why you 
didn't buy me a pair of handcuffs instead of always tying my hands together 
so damned tight. I know it sounds silly but if I could have a choice, I 
think I would prefer to wear handcuffs. You surely wouldn't use them on me 
as a permanent fixture, would you?" 

"More or less, darling, whatever was convenient. For ine, that is. When we 
go out to dinner this evening, you can put them on your wrists if you'd like 
to try them on. Just say the word." 

The imprisoned girl winced at the mere thought of entering a crowded 
restaurant while her hands were joined in steel bracelets and a single link 
of chain. As she wondered if anyone would raise an eyebrow or if dinners 
would look and laugh at her. Thinking about it she was almost tempted to say 
yes. It would please Greg enormously. And the worst that might befall would 
be some angry woman talking about calling the police and forcing Greg to use 
the tiny key. Or they might get kicked out of the restaurant. Perhaps 
nothing would happen at all. Quite often in tense situations nothing ever 
did. She remembered an occasion when Greg had compelled her to kneel and 
whisper a daily affirmation of loyalty and obedience and love. She had done 
so with flaming cheeks and a conviction about being tossed into the street. 
But nothing had happened. No one appeared to have noticed. Quite probably if 
you paid enough for dinner you could get away with anything. As though it 
was someone else she said briefly and forcibly, "All right. Take me out 
tonight with my wrists handcuffs. I want the sensation. And I'm sick to 
death of these cords that cut my wrists." She met his gaze and taunted, "I 
dare you to." 

"It's a simple thing to do, sweetheart. I've always had a pair but never 
used them on you. They will enhance your beauty ten-fold. But that's for 
this evening. For now I want you to shut up while I finish checking these 
sheets. If you manage to keep quiet, I may let you loose when I'm through 
here. If you keep nagging, you can expect to stay there a long time." 

Daphene keep very quiet indeed. Grey was as good as his word. He touched a 
number of buttons so a portion of his desk swung open to disclose a lovely 
nakedness thankful for release. Daphene was so securely bound that he was 
obliged to almost lift her from where she had knelt for so long, and then to 
support her when he stood her up erect. Together they looked down at the 
amazingly contrived wooden masterpiece as it slid once more together and the 
circular orifice in which Daphene's neck had been imprisoned for so long was 
rendered almost invisible by the snug fitting polished wood Greg now slid 
into place. Laughingly the man said, "You see, darling, everything is once 
more respectable. Until I want you in there again, that is. It's a really 
wonderful correction for a girl." 

Daphene was too thankful for release to venture even a single sniff, but 
turned her arms to the man to whom it seemingly belonged. She thrilled in 
joy as his fingers worked at the loops and knots which had held her elbows 
in a painful clasp. Daphene knew her skin would bare red marks for hours 
afterwards from the pressure of the cords. But as usual, things were never 
as a girl might wish. Having freed the wickedly tied elbows, Greg turned his 
prize around and kissed her lips with a hunger which told her every time of 
his love and adoration of her nudity. But she could never be certain if that 
love and adoration extended to her mind, as well. Did he love the real 
Daphene who was longing for love as he did Daphene's nearly perfect body? 
She wondered if every girl had the same doubts about her man. 

Breathless from the kiss, she asked, "You've forgotten my wrists, Greg." He 
turned again to present him with a pair of bound hands. "They're hurting. 
Please untie them." 

Greg turned her once more about as if it was a game, once more possessing 
her in strong arms and kissing her with eager lips, a kiss she ardently 
returned. But at the end of the kiss she once more asked, "Aren't you going 
to untie my hands? I wish you would." 

"That can wait, poppet. I positively adore you the way you are. No matter 
how beautiful a girl may be, and goodness knows you're as beautiful as they 
come, she is never so appealing to a man as when her hands are tied behind 
her back. Don't ask me to untie you, I won't." 

Daphene sighed. They had gone through this before, many times. Greg might 
untie her hands in a few minutes or a few hours. In the meantime she could 
put up with the discomfort and the inconvenience joined hands behind her. 
She was to continue at the mercy of male caprice. Right at that moment male 
fingers were mischievously teasing the nipples of her breasts and she wished 
she had the courage to jerk herself away. But Greg was taking her into a 
paradise often shared, and her will was not equal to the task of stopping 
that journey. Besides, she didn't really want to. 

Daphene knew herself Greg's prisoner and was happy with her lot. 

The naked Daphene stood in ecstasy as the male fingers played with her body, 
teasing, stroking, and exciting her body. When one hand clasp her venus 
mound and the slender slit it hid, her concern was only momentary for the 
hand was gentle. After a minute of gentle massage, the hand was replaced by 
his mouth, she moaned in pleasure and spread her legs as wide as she could. 
As he kneeled before her and skillfully worked his tongue around her clit 
and into her vagina, she soared to dangerous heights which only her owner 
had the power to invoke. When Daphene knew for sure she was on the path to 
orgasm, these intimate attentions suddenly ceased to leave her gasping and 
wide-eyed, and once frustrated beyond bearing. 

"DonT be a beast, Greg!" she pleaded. "Don't stop now. Take me all the way. 
You've got me in a dither and I can't even use my own fingers. Please! 
Please! Please!" 

It was an old story between them. He would make her prisoner with ropes that 
held her helpless then bring her body right up to the edge of ecstasy. Then 
he would withdraw and watch her wiggle and moan and tremble with lust. It 
was a terrible, frustrating experience for her but one that excited her no 
end. 

Greg kissed her forehead lightly and then each of the nipples, still rigid 
from his attentions. Abruptly he left the room to leave a frustrated and 
angry girl once more tugging at tied wrists. Daphene knew she could never 
defeat his cords but somehow it always helped to fight against them. And 
when she had satisfied herself yet again that she could not free her hands, 
nor could she reach around and touch that part of her which wanted to be 
touched so very badly, she went upstairs to her bedroom to fling herself 
upon her bed and weep wet tears. When the flood was over, she used the skill 
of a girl who's hands were often bound to run a bath and then wallow in the 
soft, scented water until she felt able to face the world and Greg once 
more. Woefully she saw this as her life. It was exciting and frustrating, 
wonderful and horrible. She smiled back at the girl in the mirror, the girl 
with arms bound behind her and a full, ripe woman's body. 

It was a wonderful dress, Greg had a gift for selecting the clothing which 
would show his captive to the best possible advantage. He never allowed 
Daphene to chose her own, and should she find fault with his choice, she 
could feel certain a punishment was in her future. But it was a rare thing 
for her to be anything but happy over his choice over what she was forced to 
wear. The clothes must have cost a fortune, but with Greg that didn't 
matter. And this, of course,'was one of the nice things about the man who 
held her captive. There was always money for anything and everything. 
Without regret she recalled the days of her stenographic struggle to pay the 
bills, and was secretly grateful that money no longer mattered in her life. 
Ruefully she remembered the often used term "keep women." Well if that was 
what she was, then so be it. It was one hell of a lot better than struggling 
to make ends meet. 

To dress she was obliged to use hands but was wise enough not to ask for 
them but to allow Greg to release her in his own good time. When he untied 
the final knot, he stood aside to watch with genuine pleasure the massaging 
of her wrists. It would have been easy to scold this man who had kept her 
within a compartment of his desk, but Daphene behaved as though everything 
was normal and provided her captor with a strip-tease in reverse. She wore 
very little save that gorgeous dress so Greg would know her naked beneath 
the sleek garment. Her nakedness was something he greatly treasured and 
ceaselessly enjoyed. And that made her proud to flaunt her nudity for his 
attention. Sometimes it gained her benefits but not often. Greg possessed 
her nakedness in the same way he possessed her, and that was one of the 
frustrations of her life that she had nothing to give which he did not 
already possess. 

It was all cleverly designed to frustrate her at every turn and make her 
totally his property. Daphene shivered as she slithered into the costly 
sheath she would wear to dinner. She knew from past experience she would not 
have the courage to run away. She would willingly return to Greg's captivity 
and his magnificent male organ by which she was forever subdued. 

They slept together every night. And since the male selfishly desired her 
hands to pleasure him, those hands were given freedom. Daphene was 
controlled simply by a collar locked upon her neck and a length of chain 
secured to a ring bolted into the wall, a chain she never fought for it was 
useless. It was a chain big enough to hold an elephant let alone a naked 
girl who's desire for freedom was not as great as it might have been. 

Greg had finished dressing early and now stood to frankly admire the 
nakedness he adored. The silk material was of the lightest weight and clung 
to her figure to reveal far more than it hid. And it was of an electric blue 
to match her sparkling blue eyes. Two nipples showed clearly under the 
material, but whether in an aftermath of her earlier sexual excitement or 
from friction with the smooth cloth neither of them really knew. Or cared. 
The shoes were simple and the heels high to show her legs off to their best. 

When the naked Daphene had provided the dress with the appropriate contours 
by which its glory might be manifest, there came a pause. Daphene was hoping 
beyond hope that Greg would by now have forgotten the promised handcuffs. 
But his was a foolish hope, she might have know would never come to pass. He 
produced them then from a draw and dangled them almost lovingly for her 
inspection. "When I locked these on your wrists, darling, you will be the 
most beautiful woman in the whole country. Everyone will envy me. And I'm 
willing to bet there are none to dispute my possession. Or the restraints I 
put upon your wrists. Hold our your hands." 

Daphene obeyed, knowing herself mesmerized and under the male spell against 
which she seemed powerless. In a daze but with a secret thrill she watched 
the silver metal encircle her left wrist to be clicked tight enough to never 
slide over her hand but not tight enough to hurt. It was snug. Her right 
hand was drawn close to receive a bracelet of its own, a bracelet clicked 
snug to tell her it was there to stay. She remembered the cord which had 
bound her wrists all afternoon and compared it. These were special, 
something she could never hope to fight off. But the rope had been something 
more personal and thrilling in its own right. She separated her wrists and 
listened to the metallic clink as they stopped suddenly. "Thank you, Greg," 
she said. "They're really beautiful. I'll wear them with pride." 

The cabby pretended not to notice. Perhaps he actually believed she was 
under arrest but Daphene doubted that. Cabby in this big city had probably 
seen about everything to see and knew that some people played kinky games. 
Daphene flushed as the cabby's gaze slowly panned down her gorgeous figure 
but she met him eye to eye when his returned to her face. She settled 
herself beside the man who held the key to her handcuffs and heart. 

It was the same at the restaurant where they were both known as old and 
valued customers. The maitre de gave only a single flicker of awareness 
before escorting them to their favorite table, a table by no means hidden 
from view. Now Daphene's ordeal was very real indeed, and was slightly 
chagrined when no one appeared to notice the hands she held tightly clenched 
in her lap. When the waiter came to take their order, she took the frightful 
plunge and reached for her menu with both joined hands. Greatly daring, she 
met the waiter's eyes and smiled as though she was a girl without a trouble 
in the world. The waiter was a gentleman and played along. 

So far so good. But Daphene knew her greatest test was still to come. She 
would be required to use a knife and fork with a confidence she did not 
feel. She could, of course, ask Greg to cut the food into bite-sized pieces 
but she was certain that would be more conspicuous than the bracelets on her 
wrists. So when the food was actually placed before her, she smiled at her 
owner's regard and proceeded to use her hands as if they were not joined. So 
with deliberate unconcern she raised chained wrists to deal with what was on 
her plate as best she could. Surprisingly it was easy beyond her hopes. 
Dinners at the table around them too occasionally startled glances before 
returning to their own affairs. Perhaps they shared Greg's secrets or 
perhaps they were too busy with the woman with them to care about this girl. 
Since that girl made no outcry or plea for help, quite obviously she 
accepted the confinement of her wrists. Within a few minutes it was as 
through the handcuffs did not exist. 

Daphene enjoyed herself, smiling mischievously at her escort who was most 
obviously taking pride in the possession of her person. Her breasts were 
positively arrogant in their thrusting against the thin material of her 
dress, and quite unconcerned by the absence of a bra. The usual fire was 
burning in Daphene's loins, a fire her escort knew was there, promising his 
full attention on their return home. 

For a part of the dinner, Greg introduced a theme his prisoner would have 
preferred to not discuss. "By now Daphene, my pet, you've had time to 
consider the punishment of being whipped," Greg said as if speaking of the 
weather. "I know it's something you have never experienced but it's one more 
step alone the way. He caught Daphene's eyes and held them. "It's not long 
ago, sweetheart, that you would have considered the idea of dinning here 
with your wrists handcuffed as an absolute impossibility, a total no-no. Yet 
here you are, getting away with it remarkably well. Even exceeding my 
fondest hopes. No one gives a damn whether your hands are chained or free. 
It's going to be just the same when I mark your lovely skin with a riding 
crop." 

"I don't see any connection. Couldn't you have found something else to 
punish me?" 

"No, we can't." 

"I don't want to speak or talk about marking my skin." 

"I want you to respond. I know damned well you'll have some sort of notions 
of your own about the idea. Let's have them." Greg grinned sardonically 
across the table. 

"That's easy," Daphene returned flippantly. "I don't wish to be whipped and 
that's an end to it. What do you think about the next election?" 

"You can't evade the questions, my pretty little puss. I want you to 
consider that on the first occasion when I administer ten simply strokes 
across your pretty bottom, you'll get out of it an intensification of the 
fire burning inside your pussy right now. You won't enjoy getting them but 
after it's over you're going to say thank you for sensations beyond your 
wildest dreams. Give it a bit of thought." 

"I already have, and I'll tell you straight, Greg, I'm not the least bit 
thrilled. And I think our relationship would go along a lot better if you 
forgot about riding corps and whips. I've heard of elderly gentlemen who 
want their bottoms whipped by pretty girls but the whole thing is simply not 
for me. Forget it. If you don't, I'll simply walk out of here and never see 
you again." 

"Wearing handcuffs?" Daphene was aware of being once again foxed. She could 
never do anything she knew she should. He was always one step ahead. There 
was nothing to stop her walking out in indignation at this moment. But where 
could she go to get her hands released? She thought of a policeman who might 
have a key but on the other hand might probably take her to the station 
house and lock her in a cell while they made a psychiatric examination. She 
could very easily imagine herself as the culprit instead of Greg. And she 
shrank from the thought of spending the night in a cage full of prostitutes 
and goodness knows what else before the magic of Greg's money set her free. 
Disgustedly she asked, "I take it this means a lot to you? So, supposing I 
said yes to those first swats with that riding crop? Just ten and no more. 
Would it make you happy?" 

The omnipotent male considered, his eyes riveted on the silver bracelets 
around her wrists. "No man is ever satisfied with ten," he said. "The first 
ten will take me to a heaven of my own. While I place the marks upon your 
skin I will be as close to the ultimate as any man may get. But when that is 
done I will long to inflict ten more and ten more on top of that. Could you 
bear with me?" 

The champagne was having its effect on Daphene's caution. Almost flippantly 
she said, "You're asking me to accept punishment pretty much in line with 
what they used to do to girls in the seventh century. Wasn't there a prison 
named Bridewell?" 

"That's right. Any female in Bridewell would consider herself luck to get 
away with a mere thirty. They were subject to much more. Fifty was 
commonplace." 

"I'm not an inmate of Bridewell. Can't we drop this conversation?" 

"But you have to understand, Daphene, my pet, that the whips they used then 
were truly terrible instruments. The whip I intend to use on you is a mere 
fly swatter by comparison." 

"That riding crop hanging on the wall of your office isn't any fly swatter." 

"Well, no ... But I was thinking of using that on your bottom only, and 
whipping your back with a kinder infliction. Or maybe a leather strap. The 
ancient Romans had what they used to call a Ferrula, which hurt a lot but 
left no injury. Good gosh, girl, try and see the thing from my point of 
view." 

Daphene tried hard and the champagne worked. After a while a mere thirty 
strokes with a whip seemed only a passing pleasantry. And so far as the crop 
across her bottom, she had to suppose, as Greg pointed out, that a girl's 
bottom was not really meant by nature to sit on but was intended to receive 
whatever corrections she might earn. The wine was bubbling in her veins so 
that she beheld only a handsome male whose property she wanted to be and 
was. And who was, without doubt, the best looking man in the whole room. 
Daphene glowed with the satisfaction of a girl who has met an obstacle and 
dealt with it. Gaily, she returned to their usual conversation. "If it means 
that much to you, Greg," she offered, "go ahead and do what you damn well 
please. Maybe it won't hurt half as much as I think it will. There, does 
that make you happy?" 

He reached across the table and took her hand, fingering the handcuffs 
lovingly but squeezing her fingers tight enough to tell her the happiness 
she had bestowed. By this time Daphene simply did not care, and when they 
were about to leave, she clinked the sliver on her wrists laughingly for all 
to see, and most particularly in the face of the head waiter. She did the 
same for the driver of the taxi, but he was not shocked and simply asked 
impassively where they wished to go. On their arrival home she felt she was 
scoring heavily when asking, "I know you want me naked, Greg, but I can't 
remove my clothes while my hands are chained." She laughed into his face, 
and exclaimed, "I'm enjoying this whole thing tremendously. I do hope you've 
got the loveliest erection! May I feel?" 

Bed was wonderful. Daphene giggled constantly as the key worked its miracle 
upon her wrists. And she was able to slither out of the lovely silk and the 
shoes.. It had become the greatest night in the world and she longed for 
nothing more than to belong to his incredible male who was fastening a 
sliver collar around her neck, a collar with a chain...! 

Daphene flung herself upon the bed and opened her arms. Nothing was going to 
be easy. And it wasn't the way Daphene wanted it. Greg's stern command shot 
her into instant compliance. 'Turn over on your belly, sweetheart, and push 
a pillow underneath your hips. After that don't move." 

The girl did as she was told. It was still exciting and she just assumed 
that she would get tied down to the bed, something that often happened when 
they made love. Although usually she was face up on the bed. 

It was true that she was possessed by alcohol-generated expectation of 
things to come, but she simply did not care. And, in any case, the silver 
collar around her neck gave her no choice. A loop of rope captured her left 
wrist and pulled it towards the corner of the bed. Another caught the right 
wrist to be followed by one around each ankle. Quickly she was tautly 
spread-eagle on the bed, a position not new to her. She giggled and wondered 
what had prompted Greg to want to ravish her with her face down instead of 
up and with her bottom sticking up. She sighed deliciously. Whatever 
happened now was something preordained. Daphene held her breath and awaited 
the first touch of his hands to be followed by the impalement of her sex by 
his magnificent tool. She was rewarded by the most terrible pain she had 
ever known in her life. Fire exploded in her bottom from hip to hip to leave 
her gasping in an understanding why the pillow was beneath her hips. 

Daphene Tremont's bare skin was being ravished by the riding crop which had 
hung in innocent upon the wall of her master's office. Daphene had no 
thought of seeking to evade punishment, and, in any case, what was the use? 
Her neck was firmly chained to the wall, her arms and legs tightly spread 
and bound. All she could do was make a disgusting scene by screaming and 
flinging useless demands at her man. Grimly she clenched her fists and 
gritted her teeth in readiness for blow number two. After all, she had given 
her permission for this whipping of her bottom, hadn't she? 

It might not have been so easily possible with the champagne to loosen her 
logic and pave the way to silly promises. She told herself she shouldn't 
drink so much. It was easy to blame the champagne and hope her master would 
only inflict two or three such strokes before clasping her in his arms and 
ravishing her sexually as she do desperately wanted. But this was not to be. 
The second cut across her skin was as terrible as the first. And when the 
third stroke bounced her cringing rounds, she cried out in protest against 
punishment such as she had never known or even dreamed about. From somewhere 
to one side a sardonic male voice chided, "Don't tell me you're going to 
scream, sweetheart. There's always the gag but I'd sooner not use it. Can't 
you just get by with gasps and moans? You've only got seven more to go." 

It was scant comfort. Daphene bore the succession of wicked cuts, 
envisioning her bottom as scarlet and cut to ribbons and bleeding. She knew 
full well that as the crop bit at her again and again, rendering her 
defenseless flesh subject to its will, she should have become more than ever 
convinced of a determination to leave the man who held the whip. And she 
felt ashamed that this should not be the way she really felt. Instead she 
felt only a glowing admiration of the man, and a determination to please him 
in ever way she could. With the pert rounds of her bottom scorching and on 
fire, she lay still for number ten and then looked back over her shoulder in 
a wide-eyed appeal for mercy. 

It was only then the vicious blows ceased to flay her flesh. And she felt 
herself lovingly embraced in strong, male arms. All was well. It was very 
well, indeed! 

For Daphene it was as though everything she had every hoped for had come to 
pass. The riding crop had given birth to a fresh beginning. And a wondrous 
glow of well-being. When she, after one very satisfying ravishment of her 
sex from the back side, she was untied and gently upon her back, her wounded 
flesh rubbed harshly against the covered on the bed, bringing pain but also 
rekindling the fire within her sex. Again those strong male arms embraced 
her body and that male tool drove deep inside her, hard enough to bring a 
gasp of pleasure to her lips. The second screwing was as good as the first 
and she hardly noticed the silver collar on her neck. 

When the orgasms faded into sleep, Daphene knew herself the happiest girl in 
the world. 

In the morning, returning from the bathroom, she demurely and without a 
word, knelt at her owner's feet to kiss and kiss again the instrument by 
which she had been ravished the night before. She then, according to long 
practice, rose to her feet and turned her back to offer a pair of dainty 
slender wrists for the conquering cord. But this time she was turned around 
once more with Greg's whisper in her ear, "You wanted handcuffs, sweetheart? 
You're going to get them. Locked in front for mealtimes and behind your back 
for all other times." 

The captive girl was fascinated by what she though of in her own mind as 
"The Lovely Steel." She watched breathlessly as her owner fitted a cuff 
firmly around one of her wrists to click it snug and then repeat the process 
with her other hands to leave them closely linked as in the restaurant of 
the night before. Laughing at Greg's absorption with his new toy, she turned 
and leaned forward with joined hands on knees to blithely ask, "Have I got 
any bottom left or is it still there?" 

Her answer was a slap on each of her pert buns to assure her of a punished 
seat very much alive and hurting. She was then led to the big mirror wherein 
they both exclaimed over the scarlet marks left by her first acquaintance 
with the crop. Gasping almost in disbelief at what she say, Daphene said the 
first thing that came to her mind, "Oh, darling, it's wonderful. It's 
beautiful. How long will it take to heal?" 

Daphene acquitted herself well with the knife and fork at breakfast, 
giggling over whatever handicaps her steel-clad wrists imposed. Towards the 
end of the meal she found herself wondering what Greg had in store for her 
today. It was only rarely she was left to roam the house alone, and mostly 
was in some way confined, even though it me no more than a chain around her 
ankle or the collar fastened to a different wall. She never got free of 
these handicaps and did not expect to. She had always spent a great deal of 
this dull and boring time struggling to free her wrists from Greg's rope or 
cord or twine Always without success, but it was something to do. And she 
would not be sue what she would do if she ever met success. But today it was 
useless to struggle against handcuffs. They were a lot more comfortable and 
provided delicious sensations as the polished steel held her wrists firmly. 
But it was too much to hope that she would be left in the comparative 
freedom, and, sure enough, as Greg prepared himself for the office he told 
her, "I had been thinking about just putting your hands behind your back. 
But that might be a little simple for you. Get over there with your back 
against the wall." A few moments later she found herself standing nakedly 
with joined hands locked to a ring above her head. There was no stretch or 
strain other than to feel herself vulnerably exposed, and flaunting a pair 
of firm, pointed breasts. 

Greg stood before her and Daphene's heart beat a little faster. His hand 
cupped her pussy and gently kneaded it, a massage which sent tingles racing 
down her spine. His tongue teased one nipple into rigidity as his hand 
warmed up her pussy. Daphene moaned low with pleasure as her body responded 
to this attention. Coupled with the excitement of being handcuffed to the 
wall, Greg's attentions were rapidly building this poor naked girl towards a 
state of sexual excitement. Then suddenly his hands left her body an she was 
left leaning forward and moaning. As he kissed good-bye, he told her gently 
that her performance the night before in bed assured her a job for life. 

The warmth and pleasure generated by her owner's hand and lips made her cry 
out his name as he walk away. She wanted more and didn't mind who knew it. 
Damn, she said under her breath, knowing that this was just another of his 
little tortures. It was not uncommon for him to place her in a position of 
helplessness and tease her until she was very hot and ready. Then to walk 
away, leaving her frustrated and horny and feeling very helpless. It was a 
game she both loved and hated. 

She stayed horny well into the morning. He had tied her like this often with 
rope and sometimes a strap. She was an old hand at leaning this way and 
that, then standing on one foot then the other. Sometimes she even allowed 
her weight to sag against the ropes, just for variety. But when she tied 
that with the handcuffs, she found that the steel cut into the flesh and 
made it painful. Quickly she got her feet back under her. 

So long as she did not fight the handcuffs, she was not uncomfortable. She 
longed very much to reach her pussy with those hands held above her head, 
longed to tease her clit and stroke that fire burning there into an 
explosion. But longing it was all she could do. 

The riding crop was back upon his office wall but Daphene thought of it 
often and knew it was something she must add to her collection of fantasy. 
She had been forbidden to ever play with herself, it was a strict no-no 
which she respected. Well, most of the time. It got very lonely when left 
alone in the house for hours while Greg went and did whatever it was he did 
to make money. And when she could reach herself, she sometimes did it. But 
most of the time she could not perform the act. And sometimes she held off 
just so she would be at a maximum sexual excitement when Greg did return. 
Such couplings were wonderful. Daphene thought about what he would do to her 
when he came home and smiled. 

Her mind drifted back and forth between being bound in a dozen inventive 
ways, being locked in a closet, and now, today, handcuffed. Whenever she 
thought about the riding crop, she found herself breathing a little faster 
in a strange, compulsive agony of the flesh, combined with what was 
undeniably a pure longing. It was while thus immersed in dreams that Daphene 
became aware of no longer being alone. 

The girl was, in many ways, a replica of herself. She must have been given a 
key or perhaps Greg had failed to latch the door. Maybe on purpose! She 
stood now in obvious amusement as she took note of ever curve and crease of 
a naked girl securely chained. Indignantly, Daphene demanded, "Who are you? 
Who let you in here? You'd best leave before I call the police." 

"I was given a key, Ma'am'sel." The visitor held it for inspection. "And as 
for the police, I think you call them not." French eyes glinted humor. "It 
seems you are very much at my disposal." 

"Did Gregory Marmot send you?" 

"That is his name. Such a nice gentleman. You are very fortunate, Ma'am'sel, 
to be whipped by so handsome a man." 

"How did you know I'd been whipped?" There came a Gaelic shrug. "Perhaps it 
is the little bird who tells me. But, Ma'am'sel, you are quite loosely 
fastened, so please to turn around so I may observe your bottom." 

"Drop dead. I'm not turning around to show you or anyone else my bottom." 

The visitor provided another shrug of unconcern. "Never mind, Ma'am'sel, I 
will see it soon enough. But you should know my Name. It is Denise Allaire. 
You saw me last evening as the girl who brought your wine. But it is easy to 
forget. I think you will not forget me now." 

"I have already forgotten you. Go away." The visitor laughed delightedly and 
moved to stand before the naked girl. She reached to clasp a rosebud nipple, 
at which point the nipple's owner discovered she had the freedom to turn and 
face the wall. Pressing her breasts against the wall, she commanded back 
over her shoulder, "Don't do such things. I want you to leave instantly." 

This time a searching hand caressed the wounded skin of a girlish bottom 
with cooing sounds of pleasure. Daphene shook her body in revolt. 

"You cannot free yourself, Ma'am'sel. This I know for sure." The visitor's 
tone had become one of sweet reason. "You are a silly girl to fight when you 
cannot win. I have beheld your pretty bottom so now you should turn again so 
we may talk." 

Grudgingly, and feeling foolish, Daphene followed the advise. Then she stood 
glaring at her unwanted visitor. "I suppose Greg sent you here," she uttered 
disdainfully. "But I don't want you. I don't need a lady's maid, and if 
you've got ideas about being jailer, I don't want that either. Please leave 
me alone." 

"You enjoy standing thus against the wall?" 

"I do if that's the way my master wants it. I've got a delightful master, I 
certainly don't need a mistress." 

A pretty French finger pressed hard against a girlish nipple as though to 
emphasis her status. But there was nothing more. The finger withdraw as its 
owner chuckled and informed, "Your Greg told me where things in this house 
are to be found. I go now to make us coffee. It will be very good coffee, I 
promise. I will also bring back the riding crop in case you persist in being 
rude." 

Panting in defeat and helpless to do a thing, Daphene watched her visitor 
depart. Alone, she gazed up at chained hands and knew herself their prisoner 
for sure. This saucy and impertinent French female could do whatever she 
pleased. And yet she was civilized in her wish to go and make the coffee. No 
doubt Denise's reference to the crop had been said in mischief. Knowing the 
uselessness of struggling against cold steel, Daphene waited breathlessly. 

The coffee was held to sulky lips as though feeding coffee to a chained girl 
who was also naked was the most natural act in the world. Daphene gulped and 
when the cup was empty managed a polite thank you. She pretended not to 
notice the sleek belt emphasizing the French waist, and from that belt the 
riding crop suspended like a sword. She recognized it as Greg's own crop, 
the one that should have still been hanging on his office wall. Prudently 
the captive girl said nothing. 

"I have been given a small key, Daphene, and also permission for to use it." 
The voice of Denise was almost arch. "Please now to hold quite still." 

Instead of gratitude Daphene felt only chagrin. It was mean of Greg to place 
her in the power of this girl, or in fact to hand over the key to her 
handcuffs to anyone for any reason. It turned her into merchandise. True, 
she could kick but a bare foot was a feeble weapon, so huffily she stood as 
the French girl reached up and used the key. Immediately one hand was free 
she was jerked around with speed and strength, and before she had even 
thought to struggle found herself with both wrists neatly handcuffed behind 
her back, the metal circlets being as thigh as though to show authority. She 
made only a single tug to test the clutch of metal and she knew she was 
trapped. She stood once more with her back to the wall to look inquiringly 
at the girl who held the key. Daphene was painfully conscious of the lack of 
any weapon by which to defend herself against the smiling young woman. 

Denise sat down and motioned Daphene to the couch. "This is not the first 
time I have been employed to help a gentleman in the control of difficult 
young ladies," Denise said. "I do assure you, Ma'am'sel, you are not alone 
in the delicious situation in which you find yourself." 

"What a horrible way to make a living! I would think you would be ashamed." 

"Mais non, my so pretty Daphene," Denise said with a smile. "A girl makes 
her living how she must. If your so handsome boyfriend asks me to share his 
bed, I will not refuse." 

"A beastly thing to even think about, it makes you a whore!" 

Denise shrugged. "It is all in the point of view, dear. I see no harm in it. 
You would be perhaps jealous, no?" The dark eyes twinkled at Daphene's 
flushed cheeks. 

"You've still got me helpless," Daphene said soberly, longing only to be 
left alone. "I think this whole thing is despicable. And I'm asking you in 
all sincerity to go away. It won't matter about leaving me handcuffed, I'm 
used to that. Please go." 

With equal seriousness Denise studied the pink cheeks and angry eyes and 
spared a quiet smile for Daphene's struggles against handcuffed wrists. 
"Oui, Ma'am'sel, you are helpless. And I could be very cruel to you if I 
wanted to. But what you most forget is that being as helpless as you are 
leaves you nothing to say about anything. You make no decisions and give no 
commands. For the moment you are mine." 

"Like hell I am!" Daphene was furious. "Get out of here and stop teasing me. 
There's no way I want a combination lady's maid and jailer. Greg's being 
mean sending you here like this." 

"I think perhaps Mr. Greg had good intentions of the best." Denise was 
trying hard to make a point. "He is a kind man and very fond of you. He 
feels it would be nice for you to have me around during the days while he is 
absent. Or do you perhaps prefer loneliness in chains?" 

"I might think about it if Greg had asked me first," Daphene conceded 
grudgingly. "But there's no way I'm going to talk to you about anything so 
long as you're wearing that beastly riding crop on your belt. That tells me 
more than words." 

For answer Denise slipped the loop and tossed the riding crop into a far 
corner of the room. "There, does that make you feel better? May we now 
talk?" 

"What do you want to talk about?" 

"Things we might do together. Perhaps some shopping?" 

"You'd lead me around on a leash, I suppose?" 

"It is a pretty idea, I like it very much. Now I go to get your collar and 
the chain." 

Once more the captive girl watched her visitor depart. Never before had the 
handcuffs been so demanding of her. Denise could do with her as she pleased. 
Greg had evidently given her the keys by which his captive was controlled. 
And for the moment Daphene toyed with the idea of running out into the 
street and finding freedom for her hands in whatever way she could. But 
nakedness was defeating. She had thought about the act many times but always 
shrank from the terrible exposure and the element of risk. She would be such 
an easy prey for the wrong kind of people to possess. Listlessly she sat to 
await the return of a girl she saw as a rival for the passions of Greg. 

The collar was a surprise, it was not the one that held her safe beside her 
lover every night. That had been flat, but this new one she had not seen 
before was round. A beautiful silver circlet she knew would be most 
becoming. The joint by which it opened was almost invisible. Like all of 
Greg's notions, it must have been expensive. As though deliberately seeking 
incongruity, it had a pendent link to which was snapped a long, leather 
leash by which her movements could be controlled. Daphene's reaction was 
instant. "You don't think you're going to put that thing on me. It's pretty 
and I like it, but not with that damned strip of leather and that snap. Put 
it away and go home." 

"You know I will not do that, Cheri. You will wear the collar and you will 
refrain from insults while I put it around your neck. Come now, stand 
still." 

"Don't put that thing on me. Forget it. Go away." 

"I will put it on you very easily, dear. Because if you choice not to 
behave, I will go and pick up that riding crop. Is that your wish?" 

Daphene sniffed and knew she was foxed. "Oh, very well," she said wearily. 
"I expect you're right, you can make me do anything you want. I'll certainly 
give Greg a piece of my mind as soon as he comes home." 

The sleek metal slithered around Daphene's neck and clicked shut with a 
happy sound. The leather leash keep contact with Daphene body by hanging 
between her ample breasts. It was long enough to reach the floor. Miserably 
she felt more a prisoner than she had every felt before. "You can't possibly 
take me out in public like this." 

"You are a silly girl to be pleased by something so beautiful around your 
neck. If it did not have the ring for the leash, I would wear it myself with 
much pride. If you truly belonged to me, I would whip you hard with that 
riding crop until you learned appreciation for what is done for you. You'd 
like that, wouldn't you?" 

Daphene spit in anger. "If it gives you so much pleasure, I don't see why 
you don't go ahead and whip me all you like? I'm helpless, I couldn't stop 
you." 

"Alas, cheri, I cannot do that. Your so handsome Mr. Greg has cautioned me 
in moderation in what I do. But perhaps it is best that since you are so 
ungrateful, I should perhaps leave you alone and go away. I had hoped we 
would give each other much pleasure. But the chemistry, it is not right. If 
you wish me to go away, I will do so." 

Daphene said as forcefully as she could, "Yes, I want you to go away, you 
know I do. I don't see why you ever came. Greg owes you an apology." 

Without another word, Denise knotted the leash to the ring in the wall. Then 
she placed a chair beneath the ring for the comfort of her captive. Denise 
said sorrowfully as if she expected a friend but had found an enemy, "Good 
bye, Ma'am'sel, give my regards to the master who should whip you very 
hard." Denise gathered her possessions and walked without a backward glance 
from the room and from the house. The front door slammed in reproach. 

 CHAPTER TWO - Scorched Skin 

In shocked disbelief that Denise had actually departed, Daphene stood 
beneath the ring and by the chair thoughtfully provided. She felt guilty and 
stupid and unkind. In her mind she was well aware of jealousy that any girl 
might share her man. And anger and resentment that the man, himself, should 
chose to place her beneath the authority of an extremely pretty young woman. 
Everything was wrong and Daphene was very much out of sorts with herself and 
with the world. 

She was about to sit down when the realization came in a flash that what she 
should do was stand upon the chair and use her teeth to untie the knot which 
held her to the ring. It seemed an entirely possible course of action. 

To a captive girl nothing is ever easy. The padded chair was unstable 
beneath her bare feet and the knotted leash was a couple of inches higher 
than she would have liked. She managed, however, to get the strip of leather 
between her teeth, seeking to work on the knot. However she soon realized 
that Denise was competent with knots. The leather strap had been tugged 
quite skillfully. After a few minutes the strained posture took its toll and 
she had to step down and sink into the chair to catch her breath. She had 
undoubtedly lost round one. 

Round two was no more productive other than to tell her the knot that really 
mattered was beneath the ring, so the whole thing had to be lifted to become 
assessable. Without hands that was almost impossible. Daphene retreated in 
defeat. Within half an hour she knew for sure she was captive to the ring 
and would stay thus until Greg's return. Sulkily she sank to the chair to 
spend the time in thinking up caustic things to say. But when, after a long 
afternoon, her master took her in his arms, all she could do was lay her 
head on his shoulder to shed the tears of frustration and defeat. 

"I gather nothing worked," Greg suggested. "I got a phone call from Denise. 
She was well and truly miffed." He chuckled. "It goes to show how far away 
from his own girl a man can sometimes be. I thought I was livening up your 
life. I've always felt bad about having to leave you tied up all day. It 
probably bothered me more than it did you." He paused a moment before 
asking, "Where do we go from here?" 

"We stay just the way we are." Daphene sniffed and added, "I'd be very 
grateful if you'd take this collar off me. And get rid of that damned 
leash." 

The leash was unsnapped and immediately put aside. "You can wear that silver 
collar until I decide to take it off. On you it looks like a million 
dollars. And I don't want you beefing about it. Here, I'll put your hands 
from back to front. Then you can amuse yourself by seeing if you can't get 
it off. You can't, but I'm sure you'll try." 

As usual Greg was right. Greg was always right. Daphene could not free her 
neck from the silver collar. It was lovely to the touch as her fingers 
explored its smooth surface, and the ring at the back told her plainly that 
when it was put to use she could forget escape. Under Greg's cheerful flow 
of small talk, the two of them were soon back to where they had been the day 
before. But at dinner Greg opened one more door. 

"The handcuffs yesterday and what's taken place today, sweetheart, has made 
a sort of dividing line. Do you feel that way?" 

Daphene clinked her handcuffs cheerfully. Continuing her eating as though 
the question was not really important, she agreed that, yes, she had felt 
that division too. Then she added hurried, "You don't have to send girls 
around to keep me amused. I've never complained of being bored, have I?" 

"No, you haven't. You're a good girl. But men are never really satisfied 
with anything. I used to sustain an erotic feeling all through my working 
day simply by thinking about you naked and in whatever bondage I'd left you. 
But this pleasant diversion is now wearing a bit thin. I want something 
more. Or something else." 

"You mean you're tired of me?" 

"No, that's not so. I'll never tire of you. It's simply I want to be with 
you more. Or perhaps in a different context." 

"For goodness sake, Greg, don't tell me you want to become respectable and 
have us get married and raise babies?" 

"No, I don't want that." Greg chuckled as if at some mental vision of his 
own. "I've got some quaint visions. The one that springs to mind is to give 
you your freedom. I'll eject you from the front door, fully clothed and with 
money in your pocket. I'll give you thirty minutes to get lost. And then 
I'll go looking for you. We can see how long you can evade recapture." 

"Greg, that's silly! If I had wanted to run away from you, there's been lots 
of chances. I will admit that with that damned girl in the house I did think 
about running out in the street, even naked and handcuffed, so see if I 
could find help rather than be under her thumb. I didn't do it because I was 
too scared to run naked into the street. And I expect with this idea of 
yours you'd be roaming the city while I'd simply be back here waiting for 
you to show up with the handcuffs. I need you as bad as you need me." 

Greg was unaffected by her comments. "Supposing I give you some real 
incentive to run away. And to do your best not to be caught," he suggested 
easily. "For instance, I could give you a hundred with that riding crop, and 
that way you'd be so mad at me you'd put your heart into the escape. How's 
that sound?" 

"It doesn't sound good." Daphene clinked her handcuffs angrily. "I won't 
enter into any game in which you use that thing on me. It hurts something 
awful. I don't think you realize how bad it hurts. I know I'm your captive 
and you can do as you please with me but that riding crop is no way to get 
my cooperation for a game." 

"Possibly you'd change your mind after, well let's say, after the first 
fifty?" 

"Fifty!" Daphene stared in disbelief. "You wouldn't be that cruel ... Would 
you?" 

"Sweetheart, it's something to think about." Greg was annoyingly cheerful. 
"Even speaking about it gets your attention. And from fifty it would be 
quite easy to raise the number to a hundred." 

"That would kill me." 

"You know it wouldn't. You'd simply have a very sore tail for a while." 

"Couldn't we talk about something else?" Greg studied his captive girl with 
a shrewd smile. 

"Got to you, didn't it, sweetheart?" he said with satisfaction. "So let's 
play another incentive game. Every morning I'll leave you with your hands 
tied behind your back with just ordinary cord. No wire or stuff like that. 
And you'll have all day to get loose. If you fail and remain tied when I get 
home, I'll give you a choice. You can spend the rest of the day suspended by 
your wrists. Or you can take a simply ten with the crop. Is that any 
better?" 

"Greg, you're being silly. I never have managed to get loose any time you've 
tied me, and goodness knows you've tied me up enough. It simply wouldn't 
work. I'd be defeated before we even start." 

"The way it used to be I expect that's true. But now I won't tie you so 
tight and there won't be any wire or grimaces to make certain you can't 
escape. In other words, give you a sporting chance. I'll use just plain old 
knots. And with the incentive of a punishment at the end of it, you'll 
really work to get your hands free." He grinned at her. "You've never had 
that incentive before. And I've always supposed you've just given a little 
try and then accepted that you couldn't get yourself free. And then you 
amused yourself some other way, knowing there's be only love and kisses on 
my return. How about that one?" 

Daphene knew her lover was not going to give up with a fresh thrill. Quickly 
thinking, she realized that Greg was right. After the initial struggles of a 
bound girl, she had always given up what seemed a hopeless battle. She had 
never really had incentive before. And being bound had been something to 
keep her horny so that when Greg did come home she would more than welcome 
his lovemaking. And it had worked for them both for a long time. Often that 
lovemaking took place immediately upon his waking in the door. Perhaps, she 
told herself, she could have defeated some of those ropes had she tried 
seriously all day. 

"I'm willing to give that one a try," Daphene said demurely. "That is, if 
I'm allowed a choice. And providing you don't tie my wrists too tightly." 

That night, chained as always in their bed, Daphene wondered with amusement 
if Greg's lovemaking was double fierce and her own responses more intense. 
She drifted into sleep trying hard not to think about the crop. 

The captive girl knew that one of the good things about her relationship 
with Greg was than neither of them ever tried to evade or excuse whatever 
course on which they had agreed. Thus it was that when Greg was ready to 
leave on the following morning, a naked girl obediently turned her back and 
crossed her wrists that they be bound as they had been bound so many times 
before. Standing straight and erect, she delivered herself to her master's 
cords. "I just bet I'm going to be sorry," she said without rancor. She 
wiggled her arms and added, "It seems just the same to me, no different from 
what it was." 

"But you'll try, won't you, honey?" 

"Oh, sure, I'll be a busy girl all day long. When you come back this evening 
I'll have a pair of nicely chaffed wrists for the waiter to wonder about 
when you take me to dine. Run along before I change my mind." 

"It's too late for that, honeybunch." 

"Well, run along anyway and let me get to work. Does a good little girl get 
her kiss?" 

The good-bye kiss was always a most satisfactory beginning to her day. Not 
because it was good-bye but because Greg kissed so well. And he usually 
palmed her sex or squeezed a breast while their lips were together. When she 
heard the front door slam she was suddenly aware of a riding crop in her 
future. So she went to work with a determination beyond anything she had 
ever devoted to the task previously. Somehow getting loose just had to be 
possible. 

At the end of an hour Daphene was both panting and perspiring with her 
wrists seeming to be more tightly tied than when she started. It had always 
been the same and at this point she usually sat down to rest and sometimes 
fall asleep. Or sometimes turn on the TV to pass the time. But today was 
different, and in a sudden memory of possibilities she went to the kitchen 
in search of a good, sharp knife. She was not the least bit surprised to 
find the door solidly locked. Pinned on one panel was a sardonic note from 
her master, "Sorry, darling, no knives. What about lighting a candle and 
burning the ropes off?" 

It was so typically Greg. She left it there as a sign of defeat. Then she 
began roving the house in search of anything that might cut a piece of rope. 
Finding nothing to aid escape, the naked girl, now feeling doubly captive, 
disgustedly returned to the lounge to sink down on the sofa and go to sleep. 

In the afternoon Daphene returned to the fray with renewed vigor, going 
first to back up against the big mirror to study the convoluted cord around 
her wrists. Finding no easy way to reach the final knots, she sought a 
straight backed chair and, sitting on it sideways, worked hard and steadily 
to achieve her purpose, ignoring hurt wrists and trying not to think of the 
riding crop hanging on the office wall. She could chose suspension but that 
didn't sound too good to her. When she heard Greg's key in the big front 
door, much earlier than usual, she knew defeat and fell back upon feminine 
speculation as to whether she could talk her lover out of the promised 
punishment. She went to meet him with hands still behind her back, her voice 
as cheerful as she could make it. "Darling, I'm so glad you're early. My 
hands are just as tightly tied as when you left, and they hurt too bad to 
struggle any more. Please untie me and let hug you." 

She was well and truly kissed but that was all. Greg went to the bar and 
mixed a couple of drinks. He told her to kneel before him on the rug as he 
sipped and held the second glass to sulky lips. 

Daphene gulped her favorite drink, a whiskey sour, and asked eagerly, 
"Please, can I have another?" 

"Do you think you should, sweetheart? On an empty tummy?" 

"I had a bad day and I expect I'll have a bad evening. I think being a 
little high would be a good idea." 

Daphene gulped her second drink straight down. It was as though bracing 
herself for the shock of what was to come. That was something she had never 
done before. 

"Go and stand in that corner," came Greg's firm command. "Get close into it 
and stare at the wall. And stay there without turning around until I give 
the word." 

"But, Greg!" 

"It's something I should have trained you to do long ago," Greg stated, 
ignoring her outcry. "Obey!" cracked his voice like a whip. 

In docile acceptance of an authority she had learned to respect, Daphene did 
as she was told, and accepted the school girl punishment without further 
demure. She was surprised, both as his command and her meek obedience. To 
insure approval she pressed her forehead against the corner of two walls and 
flapped bound hands at her master as though to say a fond farewell. This 
penalty was painless and the naked girl felt the stirrings of erotic 
feelings within her loins. Or was it two quick drinks? She could be sure. 

But it took only five minutes to tell her this was punishment indeed. She'd 
longed to turn but felt certain Greg was watching as he sipped. No doubt she 
made a pretty picture, standing there in nubile obedience, hands no longer 
fighting the cords. It would have been nice to have those hands to touch the 
wall and to keep her balance. True she could thrust her nudity into the 
walls, but this would spoil the effect of a pretty pose. Daphene stood still 
cautiously and simply endured. 

When Greg's command once more rang out and she flitted eagerly to the sofa 
to kneel once more at his knees, Daphene was astonished to discover her 
punishment had lasted only fifteen minutes. She had been certain it was an 
hour. When her hands were finally untied, she threw her arms around her 
master in a great welling of gratitude to be once more free. Then she was 
told to go up stairs and dress for dinner. No long sleeves, her wealed 
wrists had to be in full view for everyone to see. Daphene swallowed her 
protest and was half way up the stairs when she remembered neither she nor 
Greg had said a single word of the terrible punishments between which she 
must soon make her choice. But Daphene was hungry and was secretly 
cherishing a hope that perhaps she had been already punished, or at the 
worst might have to return to face the wall for a while longer. 

The girl and her master made a handsome pair. It was truly wonderful to be 
proud of the man you were with and to know he was proud of you. Daphene 
glowed and made no complain when told to place her hands upon the table for 
everyone to admire her wounds. Daphene choose to call them wounds although 
they were simply a pair of wrists with chaffed skin. The waiter noticed them 
but said no word. Mischievously Daphene wondered if he tied his wife's hands 
and knew all about the delicious game. Perhaps somewhere, in a city 
apartment, a naked girl with tied hands and feet waited in erotic 
anticipation for the return of her lord and master. It was a amusing 
thought. 

Daphene glowed under the admiration of the Male to whom she belonged. The 
whiskey sour was still a potent force within her veins, and with great 
temerity she asked, "You're not going to make me chose between those two 
punishments, are you, darling? Please tell me it's just a joke." 

"No joke. You know damned well you're going to have to chose. I'm looking 
forward to hearing which one you'll pick." 

Daphene pouted prettily. Then said with all the sweetness she could muster, 
"It wouldn't hurt you to forgive me just this once, Greg. I really don't 
want to be hung up my by wrists. Not with them hurting like they do." 

"Oh, so you've decided on the riding crop?" 

"That's all that's left, isn't there? I had hoped you'd forgive me." 

"That wouldn't be a kindness, Daphene, my pet." Greg prodded at a chunk of 
cucumber to emphasis his point. "If I let you off the penalty, you'd have no 
incentive to try again tomorrow. You're going to get the same thing again 
tomorrow, sweetheart. And every day thereafter until you meet me in the hall 
with open arms. It's wonderful training." 

The girl to be punished kept silent. She had no wish to spoil the nice 
dinner. And, as usual, she was not a bit certainly that perhaps Greg was not 
pulling her leg. They might end up on the couch, sipping their brandy and 
laughing about everyone they knew. Tenderly they exchanged glances across 
the table and Daphene was irritated to hear her own voice saying, "Punish me 
anyway you wish, darling. I'll still be loving you when it's all over." 

Captive girls come to learn their owners may be as capricious as the female 
is reputed to be. Presenting herself naked and resigned to her master in the 
lounge, Daphene received one more shock. Instead of the riding crop, Greg 
was playing with several pieces of rope and told her, "I decided right at 
the start not to inflict upon you the punishment you chose, but the one you 
rejected instead. Lay on your tummy on the rug." 

Daphene obeyed. Perhaps Greg had unwittingly made up her mind for her. 
Perhaps suspension would be the best of the two, after all. She did not even 
protest nor ask a question as her leg was bent backward at the knee and rope 
bit at skin not usually so used. Breathlessly she rested on her elbows as 
the rope was wrapped around each leg separately so that her legs were both 
doubled up and tightly bound that way. She rolled over at his command to 
discover, in gladness, the soft leather bindings for her punished wrists. 
The strip was wide and made several circles beneath her hands, circles 
pulled very tight to insure against slipping. Bound hands had never felt 
more comfortably secure. 

It was a humiliating punishment but no worse than if she still possessed 
legs. When the unseen motor and pulley raised her nude body, she found her 
knees were just above the rug and she was swinging gently. She was just in 
front of the couch where Greg sat down. Her eyes were just at the level of 
his and she was so close that she could probably have reached out with her 
knee to touch his. 

Greg poured two brandies, placed one on the end table at his elbow, and 
sipped at the other. And admiring his handiwork, a girl robbed of feet and 
legs, and swinging slowly back and forth at the end of the punishment rope. 
Daphene's firm breasts were slightly flattened by the pull on her arms but 
still stuck out nicely. But her tummy was doubly flat and the effect when 
she swung her bound thighs as she might have swung free legs was rather 
weird. 

"Much better than hanging you up in the air, sweetheart," Greg said 
consolingly. "If I'd have suspended you with your legs hanging down, I'd be 
looking face to face with your pretty puss whereas we're more or less face 
to face this way. We can carry on a nice conversation." His grin was one of 
complete approval. "You look entirely gorgeous. Does it hurt much?" 

"You know it does." 

"Do you like the way I fixed your feet?" 

"I hate it. It's horrible. Greg, you think of the damnedest things. How long 
have I got to hang like this?" 

"Haven't made up my mind, love. It's a nice atmosphere of suspense, don't 
you think? And I'm loving the way that those pretty knees fail to touch the 
floor. I suppose that's damned irritating, isn't it?" 

"Greg, you don't have to mock me. It's bad enough to have to hang this way 
without you making fun. I suppose it's useless to ask you to let me 
loose...?" 

"Quite useless, darling. You are all together too beautiful to spoil the 
picture. Here, have your first sip of brandy." 

The suspended girl gulped gratefully and would have gulped a lot more had 
not the glass been returned to the end table where she looked at it 
longingly. "Just one more sip, Greg? It helps." 

Daphene got her sip. Greg was never stingy in such matters. But now he 
proceeded to illustrate the convenience of the way in which she was hung so 
close. Reaching forward, he cupped her wet pussy and drew her close until 
her knees rested on his own and he could play with her in total comfort. 

"Don't be a bastard, Greg," she pleaded. "What you're doing to me is 
horrible. Please let me go." 

"You know you love this." 

"I'll bet you're thinking of some neat way of explaining this is all for my 
benefit." Daphene sniffed. "It's a terrible way to punish a girl. Do you 
really have to keep playing with my pussy?" 

"You want me to stop?" There was no answer. Daphene felt rather awkward 
being suspended and bound like that, but what he was doing to her sex did 
feel good. Real good. And, although she felt she should protest, somehow the 
words died in her throat. The talented fingers teased and stroked and made 
her body get very heated with plain, everyday lust. Just as he could tell 
she was nearing a climax, he get go of her and allowed her naked body to 
swing away from him. Then he sat back on the sofa and watched as she arched 
her body, struggled, and tried to touch her pussy to his knee or hand. She 
moaned and tried to capture his knee between hers. But he simply gave her a 
little shove and she was again swaying away from the man she wanted very 
badly to have touch her again. She let out a little cry of distress and 
ceased her attempts to swing over to him. Biting back angry words, she also 
had to fight to keep from crying. It was very frustrating to be so 
deliriously helpless and worked up to nearly an orgasm, only to be denied 
that pleasure. 

Yet the suspended girl did not scold her master for his mistreatment of her. 
She knew full well that things could get worse. Besides she really liked 
this kind of torment. True, it was real frustration -very real. But it was a 
delicious torture and she secretly loved it very much. Beside, she kept 
telling herself, Greg is horny too, and it won't be too long before he will 
do something to satisfy himself. And that usually meant satisfying her, too. 

Greg prepared a frontal view of his punished sweetheart. Suspended as she 
was, Daphene's nudity had a tendency to turn as well as swing. And as she 
slowed down, he reached out and once more took a handful of his loved one's 
sex to steady the motions she could not control. "I want a good view of that 
pretty body of yours," he told her in a friendly manner. "If you find it 
difficult to keep your thighs apart, I'll find something to prop between 
your knees. That little place you have beneath your beautifully flat belly 
is something to admire. It's neat and tidy and has a sort of character of 
its own. It's the same with your breasts. And I'm so pleased they haven't 
lost their contours under the stress of you hanging the way you are. I've 
purchased a special small whip designed for them. I'd love to use it on them 
as you swing around, but I'm going to give up that pleasure for the moment 
because a couple of reddened tits wouldn't add a thing to the quality of 
this situation. Are you wishing you'd gotten your hands free this 
afternoon?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, there's always tomorrow, darling. Although you may not have the same 
two choices to pick from. I'm thinking in terms of tying out that pretty 
little whip on your breasts and tie you in a special position to receive its 
caress. The other choice would be to hang by your ankles upside down for 
thirty minutes, a half hour which I believe will seem a lot longer that it 
is." 

"Stop torturing me, they're both horrible and I don't want either of them." 

"Then you simply have to wiggle your little hands free of my wicked cord and 
have the cocktails ready for when I get home. In fact, I'm inc-lined to 
demand that you make those cocktails anywhere, whether your hands are free 
or not. I think it might just be possible if you do enough contortions. What 
do you think?" 

"I think you're being terribly unkind." Daphene was close to tears as her 
shoulders screamed in agony and protest against the strain. "It's bad enough 
to be punished like this but to have an idiot of a man keep telling me about 
the punishment I'm going to get tomorrow is just too damned much." She 
snorted. "Why don't you stuff a gag in your mouth and shut up." 

Greg's voice held nothing but admiration. "I think that's a wonderful idea, 
darling, except that you do understand it's your mouth and not mine that 
deserves gagging. Which one of the stock of gags would you prefer?" 

"I don't want any. I think it's a beastly idea. Look, Greg, if you gag me we 
won't be able to talk. At least I won't be able to talk. So you might just 
as well have a sack of potatoes hanging on this rope. Don't gag me, please." 

"Maybe you have a point, Daphene. But I think I'd like to try it out for 
effect. I'm inc-lined towards the one with the rubber pad and the soft 
leather band across your mouth. Here I'll give you a push so you've got some 
momentum while I'm gone." 

Daphene hated her situation with a passion. Swinging back and forth the way 
Greg and set her to motion was the same as being a dummy on a string. She 
could do nothing to slow the motion or bring it to a halt. Her doubled over 
legs were no help at all. So miserably she hung there, going back and forth. 
Suddenly Greg's hand brought her swinging to a halt. The hated gag was in 
his hand and inches from her face. 

"Open up, sweetheart, this pretty gag is just aching to get inside your 
mouth. Don't quibble." 

As the rubber pad filled her mouth and the tight straps compressed her lips, 
Daphene longed to scream. But when she tried, no sound emerged. Savagely she 
tried to punch her lover with her bent knee but all her efforts resulted in 
nothing more than a broad grin and an affectionate pat on her bare bottom. 
"It's a lovely effect, sweetheart, you won't mind if I sit down and simply 
enjoy?" 

The nude and helpless girl could only glare as her lover did as he had 
suggested. Quite obviously she was an erotically amusing sight to him. With 
wrists and ankles on fire, and her mouth fill of the rubber gag, Daphene 
simply hung suspended for her master's inspection. She could only convey her 
feelings by the play of anguished eyes. 

"You're really mad at me, aren't you, sweetheart? I can tell." Greg laughed 
cheerfully. "I'll bet if you had a free hand, you'd punch me in the nose." 

Daphene made gurgling sounds of agreement and knew that had she the gift of 
speech, she would be urgently pleading release. She had had enough and used 
the only feminine weapon she had left. She closed her eyes and bowed her 
head forward as though in the lost of consciousness, hanging inert and 
pathetic in her bonds. It worked better than she had dared hope. Become 
bored with the silent and motionless nudity, Greg made a threat he felt 
certain would bring results, "Snap out of that slump, sweetheart, I know 
you're just simulating unconscious. If you refuse to come back to life, I'll 
use the riding crop on you. Open those pretty eyes and get your head 
straight." 

Daphene made no move, but continued to hang in seeming lifelessness. She 
trembled inwardly at the threat of. the crop cutting her bare skin. But she 
held her pose until Greg said, disgustedly, "Oh, all right. I'll take the 
gag out of your mouth but you'd better damned well come to life again." 

As the straps confining her cheeks were tugged free and peeled away and the 
hateful wad tugged out from between her teeth, the punished girl did her 
best to show no sign of life. With the discarding of the gag, her head 
continued to droop, her eyes remained closed. Daphene shrewdly guessed that 
should she open them so that Greg could see them focus and behold her 
admission of faking, he would probably use the crop on her as a lesson not 
to be too clever. And to never, never deceive her master. It was with a 
gratefulness that Daphene felt her knees touch the rug as she was lowered to 
the rug. She was laid gently on the rug. She pretended to return to 
consciousness only after Greg had removed the ropes from one bent double leg 
and almost finished removing the ropes from the other. 

Daphene did not care whether he untied her wrists or not, she so rarely had 
the freedom of her hands that it really didn't matter. Allowing herself to 
return to this world, she muttered, "Thank you, Greg, oh, thank you. Please 
hold me tight." 

Greg fondled his beloved as though she was a child, making no apology for 
the punishment but speaking eloquently of concern with ardent lips which 
kissed his punished beauty back to life. "You'll be a good girl now" he 
asked as if it really mattered. 

"Yes, I'll be a good girl. Greg, that was awful. Please don't do that one to 
me again." 

"Okay, honey bunch, I won't. If I ever did, I'd change it so your hands were 
wide apart instead of tied together. I think the effect would be far more 
beautiful." 

"I expect it would," she agreed without interest. "Are you going to make 
love to me now or do I have to wait until we go to bed?" 

"You're going to get both. Aren't you the lucky girl? You also get brandy 
before we start. Get to the bar and make one for each of us. Here, I'll take 
the leather from your wrists. I'm really letting you off easy." by the time 
the fiery fluid had slithered down Daphene's throat, she was inc-lined to 
agree that, indeed, he had been kind. Her original sentence had been to hang 
suspended for the rest of the evening until her lord and master was to take 
her up to bed. Now, setting aside her empty glass, she giggled into a 
receptive male ear, "I'm going to fight you all the way. You'll have to rape 
me." 

It was a game they often played. Often Greg would prolong the contest by 
using only half his male strength and skill until his beloved, worn out by 
the unequal struggle, became limp with legs wide apart for his triumphant 
entry in male victory. Daphene considered that victory left her the true 
winner. 

Daphene was tired and slept late so that Greg was ready for the office when 
grabbed a cup of coffee, unlocked the collar from her neck, and the, when 
the coffee was gone, flipped the unprotesting nudity on to her face, crossed 
her wrists behind her back, and tied them in the same manner as the day 
before. He then kissed her, patted the soft, round bottom, and said 
good-bye. Laying on the bed after he had gone, Daphene speculated as to her 
punishment when evening came around, but shrugged such thoughts away and 
went to the bathroom. 

The tied girl would never know if Greg had left the kitchen door open on 
purpose or simply forgotten. The fact that only table cutlery was to be 
found was, of course, suspicious. The knives with really keen blades were 
not there. And after fumbling with the best she could find for a good thirty 
minutes, she knew for sure the kitchen was no easy path to freedom. As 
though it was a simple duty, she performed the usual twists and tugs, 
without loosening a single strand of the cord which made her prisoner. Then, 
just for something to do, she decided to make coffee and discovered how well 
a girl could perform that simple task with her hands tied behind her back. 
Working carefully and slowly she soon had the coffee making humming to 
itself and knew that if she could do that, she could quite probably make the 
cocktails as Greg had laughingly suggested. With the same lack of interest 
she contrived a sandwich which could be eaten by using tied hands to push 
the two slices of bread and what they contained to overlap the plate and 
then to stoop down or kneel to enable her tongue to coax it into her mouth. 
It was fun and she was pleased with her success. But at the end of it she 
was as securely tied as ever, and felt pretty sure punishment would await 
her once again. 

It was difficult to open doors or to tune the television, difficult to open 
a drawer for she could tug only at one handle at one end. Most of the 
drawers would bind so that she was forced to go back and forth and make hard 
work of something that should have been extremely easy. All this was 
territory already known, but laboriously she made a fresh tour of inspection 
and exploration in the hope of finding some implement to conquer the binding 
cords. There was also the hope that all of this work might bring about a 
loosening of the strictures on her wrists. But these things were not what 
happened. She discovered no sharp blades and by three in the afternoon she 
simply gave up the effort and watched television until it was time to make 
the cocktails with which to greet her master. 

Making a cocktail with bound hands was not easy but she move things around 
one step at a time and managed what she thought was a pretty good cocktail. 
She poured some in a glass and knelt to sip it. Then she put the glass into 
the small sink at the wet bar and rinsed it. Drying it was not easy behind 
her back but she soon had the glass dry and waiting for her to pour a fresh 
cocktail for her master. She set out a second glass for herself. She even 
managed to find ice cubes by standing on a chair in front of the open door 
of the refrigerator. She hoped Greg would not demand this service everyday. 
The air coming out of the freezer section was very cold on her skin. 

The familiar key turning in the lock set Daphene's pulse to racing. But she 
told herself she would not be whipped until after they had returned from the 
restaurant, and what she wanted now was a hug and a word of praise for 
performing the miracle of the martini. The two glasses were waiting on the 
bar and between them the cocktail shaker, well loaded with welcome. Greg's 
greeting was pretty much as expected. 

"Sweetheart, you're a disappointment. You've failed again." 

"I'm sorry, I really did try. When you tie me, Greg, it's impossible for me 
to get free. Surely you know that by now. But, darling, I've got 
cocktails...." 

Greg was actually touched and his handmaiden got most ardently kissed. 
"Maybe I'd better carry our drinks," he offered. "I mustn't ask too much of 
you." He gave her a frown. "Or maybe I should." 

So far, so good. It was a very satisfactory cocktail time, and when her 
wrists were freed so she could dress for dinner, Daphene's heart sank 
madrigals of joy as she dashed up the stairs in total freedom. In the bed 
room she waved her arms around just for the joy of motion. They had been 
bound behind her back for about ten hours and were glad to get free. 

"You're a total failure as an escape artist," Greg told her at dinner time. 
"I've not going to give you that test again. You've flunked it twice, and I 
don't want to have to give you those severe punishments every evening. 
You'll get it right, of course, but let's hope I think of something better 
for you tomorrow. 

"Oh, by the way, have you made your choice between the crop and the little 
whip I got for your breasts?" 

"Thanks, I'll take the little whip." 

"On your bare breasts? Are you sure, darling?" 

"I'm scared of the riding crop, Greg, you don't know how it hurts." She 
didn't say that she was even more scared of having her breasts whipped. They 
were very sensitive and so very perfect in their shape and size. She was 
sure she would die if he actually whipped them. But she remembered how, the 
previous evening, he had reversed her decision. If he did the same tonight, 
he would change her decision from the small breast whip to the riding crop. 
At least she had been whipped with the crop before and knew of it's power to 
hurt. Being whipped on the breasts scared her deeply. 

Greg nodded as though they were choosing the dessert. "We can refine this a 
little further, if you wish, sweetheart. There's two places the little whip 
is well adapted to. I've told you about your breasts, of course. The other 
one, of course, is to tie you in a suitable position and use it on your 
puss. I'm told the sensations are both painful and erotic. This gives you a 
wider choice and I think I'm being most considerate." 

"I'm sure you are," Daphene said, swallowing hard. "Sorry I'm not more 
grateful. Greg, dear, anything you've offered me today seems bloody awful 
and scares me half to death. I'll behave myself, of course, but I'll be 
terribly scared." 

She didn't tell him how disappointed she was that he hadn't reversed her the 
punishment. But perhaps he had figured she would reverse her choice tonight, 
so he decided not to reverse it. Or perhaps he read in her eyes what she 
really feared. Either way, she was trapped into receiving a punishment she 
feared very much. But should she say she wanted it on her breasts or her 
pussy? And was that another game Greg was playing with her? Perhaps he would 
pick which ever he wanted regardless of what she said. That sounded about 
right. He would win and there was nothing she could do about it. 

Greg let it drop without forcing her to have to pick the target area for 
that little whip now. "I'm wondering if you've considered my idea about 
Denise? She's still sort of hovering in the wings and phoned me today to ask 
if you still hated her just as much." 

"I hope you told her I did." 

"Oh, come off it, Daphene. You don't hate her at all. 

She never did anything to make you hate her. You're simply jealous because 
you figured I'd certainly get into her pants. Forget that and give me an 
honest statement." 

"Well, all right, I simply don't want another woman in this house. I'm sure 
she's a nice girl and she tried to be polite. I expect it's all my fault, 
but I still don't want her with us when you give her carte blanche to do 
with as she pleases with me. Can we consider the matter closed?" 

"We can put it on hold, sweetheart. And I won't spring her on you as a 
surprise. What would you like to do tomorrow? Want you hands tied again?" 

"No, I don't! I don't ever want my hands tied again. You've got me educated 
to handcuffs so please use them. Even if they are behind my back, they're 
more comfortable." 

"And a set of pretty leg irons, too?" There was more in Daphene's mind than 
simply avoiding the discomfort of bound wrists. There was an attraction to 
the beautiful bracelets and leg irons, an attraction that Daphene wanted to 
deny but it wouldn't go away. 

"If it pleases you," she replied. "I expect I can hobble as well as the next 
girl. Do they really use those things on female prisoners?" 

"Sure they do. Except a female prisoner would have a little more length of 
chain than you're going to have. I've had a pair of nice leg irons made for 
you. I think you'll fall in love with them." Greg laughed. "I can almost 
hear the clinking as you walk around." 

"Well, that's settled then. Tomorrow I get handcuffed and leg-ironed, and 
you can't possibly punish me for failing to free myself from them. I've won. 
You're mostly a very kind master." 

"This game we play, it's crazy, isn't it?" Greg said thoughtfully between 
soup and fish. "I'm damned lucky to have found you. Do you still love it as 
much as ever?" 

"More, I'm afraid." 

"Will you still say that when I'm punishing you this evening?" 

Daphene laughed. "Probably not. So don't ask me that. A girl is never at her 
best when she's being punished, you know." 

"One of the things I like about you, sweetheart, is that you don't plead too 
much. You don't try to talk yourself out of things, I mean the things that 
hurt. Like the punishments you earn by being naughty. Or simply because it 
pleases me to bestow them. There's a lot of guys would give a lot of money 
to have you." 

"I expect there are but I don't want to meet them. I'm ashamed of being so 
submissive and being such a doormat. But I can't help it, that's the way I 
am. I agree, you are a very lucky man." Daphene paused to giggle. "And I 
suppose that also makes me a very lucky girl." 

"I've thought up another quite delicious charade, dear," Greg said 
earnestly. "I could throw a stag party and in the middle of it auction you 
off. It won't be real but just for fun. I'll dress one of the boys as an 
Arab and he can lead you in and up onto the platform at the end of a chain 
around your neck. He can give the usual sales pitch and at the proper moment 
reveal your charms. I think perhaps it would be as well to have your hands 
cuffed behind your back, just in case you feel a bit skittish under all 
those male eyes.-Does it hold any appeal for you?" 

"No, it doesn't. I've told you before, Greg, I belong to you and to no one 
else. I don't want to be shared. And this idea seems to me to have a flaw. I 
mean, when the bidding is all over and some guy has offered the highest 
price, what happens then? I hope you're not thinking of delivering me to him 
to be slept with. That's a polite way of saying being fucked." 

"I had thought of it. You've put your finger on the real problem, the thing 
that would give the whole idea a tremendous realism. And every guy in the 
crowd an erection. Would you hate me very much if I used force to make 
delivery? Remember you'd be pretty damned helpless." 

Daphene felt the heat in her loins growing, and could visualize the scene in 
her mind. There was a certain thrill to the idea of standing on a platform 
before a crowd of men and listen to how much they were willing to part with 
to get her. Any woman wants to be wanted but to be sold...! 

"If it was fixed in some way so that you were the ultimate purchaser ... I 
might say yes. I remember all those stories about girls who are put in a 
spot like that in those cheap novels. And I'll admit there's a thrill to it. 
But only if the man you want is the man who buys. I couldn't bare it being 
left to chance." 

"I don't see how I could run a swindle, dear, and take you for myself. I'd 
loose every friend I had." 

"Not if you and the auctioneer were in on it. Besides, what is going to be 
paid for me? Real money or make-believe?" 

"Real money, sweetheart, but the boys will understand from the beginning 
that they were just renting you for an evening of pleasant fun and games. 
There won't be as much money bid as if they thought they were actually 
buying you. But the bidding will be real." 

"You aren't thinking of really selling me, are you, Greg? I mean for real!" 

"No, not ever. But, as you say, this is a scene which has a tremendous 
appeal. I'll be every girl sometimes envisions herself on that block, and 
the sensations as the sheet is pulled away to reveal her naked body to all 
those men. It would be a very intense scene for a girl, wouldn't it?" 

"I might be willing to try it," said Daphene slowly. "But only if it's you 
that buys me. I just can't see myself being turned over some stranger to be 
fucked like a prostitute. How you work it so that you're the buyer, I don't 
care." She paused for a while before adding, "Have you got any more quaint 
notions tucked away?" 

"You know about the cell in the basement. You've spent a little time in it 
already. But what I'm thinking now is to totally simulate a convict girl 
sent to prison and locked in there behind the bars." Greg paused and thought 
in silence for a while. "I'd want to go a bit beyond what the prisons 
usually do. I'd want you handcuffed and leg-ironed. It would have a 
delightful scenic effect. I can just imagine the conversations we could have 
through the bars. 

"There's also the fact we'd need a jailer, someone to look after you and 
discipline you as needed." 

"Of course," said Daphene sweetly, "that would be your Denise?" 

"You're like the elephant that never forgets, darling. Actually I'm sure I 
could talk one of the boys into playing the part. We could get him a uniform 
and you'd be quite certain that he'd never take his eyes from you. Being 
naked, and all, you know. And I'd have to keep you safe by holding the key 
to the cage. I don't think there's any man who could resist unlocking the 
door if he could. And doing with you what comes naturally. What do you think 
of that one?" 

Daphene considered. Both of these propositions did not set well with her. 
She didn't want another woman in their house. But she also didn't want a 
male jailer watching her every minute. But these things might well happen. 
Even without her consent, Greg could easily give her no option. She was 
always more or less helpless, so if he locked her in a cage with a leering 
male to play the jailer, there was nothing she could do about it. But she 
had to admit to herself at a jailer, male or female, would be better than 
staying in that tiny cell, wearing handcuffs and leg irons, for those long, 
long hours all day. 

And Greg just might make her sleep in that cage. She had spent a night in it 
twice because he thought it would be nice for her to experience it. She 
didn't like it. 

"I think I would get tired of it very fast, Greg," she said. "Could you put 
this one on hold, along with the rest?" 

Greg sighed. "You really are a capricious female," he said without heat. 
"What I ought to do is subject you to every one of these games. Having you 
handcuffed in the first place, you really wouldn't have much to say anyway. 
You'd be forced to go along. And I do mean forced." 

They surveyed each other for while in silence. Daphene was ashamed of her 
wet panties and a strong desire to play the part of the heroine in each of 
his little vignettes. But she pushed away concern because whatever was going 
to happen would happen. She could never really sway the issue. Except 
perhaps sometimes with tears. Greg sometimes was affected by tears although 
she scorned them as being unfair under the rules of their little game. Of 
course, pain sometimes generated them without her being able to stem the 
flood. 

"Greg, you're a marvelous Master. Do whatever you want with me, I won't 
complain. At least not very much." The words sounded unconcerned but that 
was not the way Daphene felt inside. She didn't want either of those two 
scenes to really happen. At least being sold before a group of men wouldn't 
end up too badly when it was Greg who bought her. 

The pleasant and erotic conversations brought them to coffee and a serious 
contemplation of the thing which lay ahead. "If you don't mind, I think I'll 
chose to be whipped between my legs," Daphene said demurely. "I don't know a 
thing about this little whip you've just purchased, so I'm taking a shot in 
the dark and hoping won't hurt too much. I'll just have to hope my pussy 
still works when you're finished." 

Greg laughed. Going home in the taxi he put the handcuffs on her. "Just in 
case you change your mind," he said gently. 

"Is it going to be that awful?" 

"Not really. But you won't like it while it's happening." Daphene had 
consumed enough brandy that she could have cared less about the handcuffs. 
In fact she grinned a happy smile at the cabby as Greg paid the fare, and 
raised both hands for the man to have a good look at what the girl about 
town was wearing this year. They went indoors and her heart was in her mouth 
in contemplating what was going to happen. 

It was a cleverly constructed frame, mostly of bent and twisted metal. 
Greg's firm hands pushed his lovely one back upon it and bound her tight to 
compel her legs and thighs to be spread wide open at the bottom of the 
frame. Daphene actually felt thankful at the bite of all the cords in all 
the places Greg chose to bind. She found a deliciousness about the binding 
which made her terribly and wonderfully open for the little whip, the little 
whip she had never seen. 

When her master was done with her, she could not move in any directions. She 
was fixed for sure in a terrible vulnerability. She knew her both her 
breasts and pussy exposed and inviting the thrust of the whip. Either target 
would be new for her. It was all very wonderful and very frightening. 

Daphene was allowed to examine the little whip. It's little cords were only 
a foot long, while its handle was prettily embellished by whatever craftsman 
had been employed. She was forced to kiss the limp thongs so soon to bite 
her skin. And that was a tribute she made with unexpected feeling as if by 
kissing the slender leather strips she might make its pain less. 

Due to the nature of the frame on which she was so firmly fastened, she 
could not be sure if it was her breasts or her pussy to be punished. Both 
were vulnerable, terribly vulnerable. She had asked that the punishment be 
between her legs but in truth she didn't know which she would rather have. 
Both would hurt and both would surely damage very tender parts of her body. 
But she was so very proud of her breasts and did not want them marked up or 
harmed in any way. So she had asked for the whip to be used on her pussy. 
Which would Greg use for target practice? 

She watched him play with the little whip, drawing its thongs through his 
hand as if testing its softness. 

It was swift and sudden. The upward cut between the thighs she could not 
close. Daphene could almost believe she heard a splat as the tiny leathers 
bit hard into her most secret place. Involuntarily she screamed. 

"Would you like to be gagged, sweetheart?" 

"No, please don't. That scream slipped out because it hurt more than I 
thought it would. I'll try and tone it down so as not to offend your august 
ears." 

Her reward for flippant remarks was a second stroke directly across the 
right breast, including searing pain across her nipple. It took all of her 
determination to avoid a scream. It was such an intimate place, a part of 
herself to be treasured and to be loved. But the little whip had laughed at 
such notions and bit into the soft round with a viciously more personal. 
While Daphene was gathering her resources another shrewd and wicked stroke 
rose upward between her thighs to bite her cunt. And this time she screamed 
more ardendy. 

The gag was inevitable. The bound girl had supposed so from the start. She 
didn't mind the fresh humiliation for she hated her own screams even through 
she could not control them. Screams were shameful. And when she beheld her 
master with the gag in his hands, she said quite simply, "I don't mind being 
gagged, Greg, maybe it's best." After the straps had been tightened behind 
her neck, Daphene screamed no more. 

 CHAPTER THREE - Whipped Cunt and Breasts 

The little whip was indeed a potent force. It hurt twice as bad as any girl 
could possibly imagine. And it fitted so well the contours of a maiden's 
breasts and a maiden's pussy that it was obviously perfect for its task, a 
task with which Daphene was to become well acquainted. But now she strained 
against the ropes and the cruelty of the metal frame. She had only to suffer 
in silence of the rubber wad upon her tongue, and the limber leather which 
sealed her lips. She assured herself constantly throughout her ordeal that 
she would surely survive. No little whip was going to get the better of 
Daphene. She listed to Greg's amused comments as he lashed her skin and 
longed most ardently to answer back. Or to offend his ears with screams. 
Daphene remembered their conversation at dinner in which he has asked in 
amusement if the question of her love for him and for his punishments 
continued even while those punishments were taking place. She had to wonder 
what her answer would be now as a particularly savage upward cut brought 
fiery pain to her slit. She loved Greg dearly but tonight he would tax her 
to the limit of endurance. Daphene fought hard against the ropes and the 
frame but moved nothing so as to leave her yet open to invite the lash. 

At what might be the half way point, the man relieved the punished girl of 
the gag which had filled her mouth. Daphene knew not why but was thankful 
for the reprieve. And when her master inquired, "Is this little whip 
effective? Or should I throw it away?" she answered instantly, "This is 
terrible. Can't I be forgiven?" 

"You know you're never forgiven," Greg said easily. "To forgive is to spoil 
the whole thing. Now you know you're going to be punished more. I want your 
reactions, let's have them." 

"I hurt and I can't move. Isn't that enough?" 

"Nothing more subtle or erotic? "You told me I can't ever bargain because 
you already own the things I could bargain with. But I'll do whatever you 
want to give you all the pleasure any man could ask for if only you'll stop 
this whipping. It hurts so much." Her voice trailed away into despair. 

The gag, still wet from her mouth, slid easily between her teeth to compress 
her tongue again. The straps were buckled even tighter than before. Looking 
up at her lover she saw him smiling tenderly and she tried to smile but was 
defeated by the silencer. Now each time it cut into her crotch, she screamed 
against the gag but only pitiful whines came out. 

Daphene supposed, sardonically, that it was an excellent arrangement with 
which any master would be most pleased. As the little whip bit hard into the 
flesh she could not protect, her screams of pain would not offend her 
master's ears. After the fourth wicked slash of this new session, she 
wondered how long it would go on. 

It lasted far too long, and it was a sad and sorry girl who's wrists and 
ankles were finally freed. Her master lifted her gently from the frame of 
suffering. "You did well, sweetheart," he told her in sober conviction. "You 
really are a treasure." 

Daphene was still gagged and could not answer his compliment. His hand 
cupped her sex and she knew fresh agony as the strong male hand kneaded the 
sore flesh. It was wonderful to know the punishment was over and that, 
unless she behaved as stupidly as she had before, there would be no 
repetition on the following night. The cuffs and anklets which at first had 
seemed so terrible to her were now her best friends as they robbed her of 
decision and hope of freedom. Dimly the punished girl wondered why she still 
spoke of freedom. Freedom had been offered and rejected so why think about 
it. She supposed it was simply a guilty conscious prompting her to the 
conventional desirability of escape. Daphene shut it from her mind and tried 
to say against the gag, "I love you very much, Greg. I love you." 

One of the nice things about their relationship was that they knew each 
other's thoughts. Then, as the gag was removed and tossed aside, Daphene was 
kissed in a fervor of affection and desire. She was carried to their bed 
where the collar was locked around her neck and her lover chuckled as he 
suggested they find out if her sex was still functional. And if a 
well-whipped puss felt better or worse for the man entering it with his 
tool. He spread her legs wide and inserted himself within the inverted "V". 
It would have been easy for Daphene to tell him it hurt terribly but she 
said no words. And after the first agonizing thrust, she did not care. 
Theirs was a wonderful life! 

Breakfast was with hands chained in front, nothing more. The captive girl 
deliberately made play with the silver bond to extract from it as many 
clinks and clicks as the single link might provide. She became adept with 
knife and fork and dealt with the bacon and eggs which she, herself, had 
cooked with practice expertise. She was proud of her ability and was 
grateful Greg was as proud as she. 

"Are you going to show me the irons for my ankles?" she asked almost 
hopefully. "The way you've described them has got me all excited." 

The irons, when produced, were as wickedly beautiful as promised. They were 
heavier than handcuffs and a wider metal band around each ankle, bands 
delightfully etched by skillful hands to adorn a lady's feet. The chain 
between was far from heavy but still heavier than anything Daphene had yet 
worn. It was made of sliver links which produced an ominous clanking sound 
and clink whenever she moved a foot. The bands fit snugly in a way which 
told of being made to measure. And when the delighted girl essayed to walk 
with this restriction of her ankles, she did so cautiously for fear of 
falling. The number of links by which her steps were now controlled were 
only five. 

When they said their final good-bye before the big front door, Greg's 
willing prisoner held up joined hands to ask in seeming innocence, "Do I get 
fresh irons instead of these? Handcuffs seem so plain compared with what 
you've got on my ankles. Pretty please?" 

Greg patted his slavegirl on her bottom and told her not to be a greedy 
wench in case he showed up one day with an iron maiden. 

Alone and stoutly chained, Daphene looked down at ironed ankles as practiced 
her walking around the house. She was delighted by the music her chains 
made, knowing that if she admired the silver bands and their links, she 
would undoubtedly come to orgasm before the day was past. She shuffled to 
the kitchen to wash the dishes. 

Daphene's next task, self-imposed, was to go to the big mirror and display 
her nudity as best she could to behold the venom of the little whip. She had 
well believed the night before that being whipped in that place had added 
enormously to the joy she found in Greg's experienced thrusts. She beheld 
now the reddened skin and the vivid stripes across her breasts, both of 
which caused her to shiver deliciously. She wondered quite seriously if she 
wanted it to happen again. Crossly she told herself she was a stupid girl 
and ought to know better. But that belief died when she cupped her crotch 
and the fire in her loins flamed immediately up. It left her breathless and 
amazed that tortured flesh should find such delight in it's pain. 

She spent the day cleaning and polishing as handcuffed girls find 
surprisingly easy to do. After, that is, she had laid down on her bed and 
teased her clit and pussy into a very satisfying orgasm. Playing with 
herself was forbidden by Master's decree but there were times when her 
feeling was that the cat's away and the mice will play. After that pleasant 
reaction to her new chains, Daphene walked around the house a bit, then 
found that cleaning also allowed her to test the limits of her chains. 

As she cleaned, she considered that she had been Greg's prisoner for a 
couple of months and during that time she had gone from a girl who laughed 
in delight when he first tied her hands behind her back, to a model prisoner 
who spent all day, every day in chains. Quite a way to come in just a few 
months! 

For a while Daphene though about Dennis. She was attracted to the beautiful, 
dark -haired French girl in a way she found slightly disturbing. But she 
also wanted to have that woman stay far away from her house. Well, Master 
Greg's house, she corrected herself. But she shared it with him and had no 
plans for also sharing a woman. She decided that she wasn't ready to give in 
to Greg's obvious desire to have the lovely girl become Daphene's jailer and 
companion. Although a companion would be nice to have during long days.... 

The days passed and Daphene was a happy and contented prisoner who was very 
close to being a true slavegirl to this man she loved. He varied the bondage 
placed upon her each morning and by which he held her safe. Sometimes the 
bondage was so severe that she could hardly move, other times only the 
lightweight handcuffs and beautiful silver leg irons. And some of her 
evenings were spent in fancy restaurants, wearing clothing that concealed 
not her beautiful body. Usually her hands were free during those evenings 
out, but sometimes she wore a pair of handcuffs upon her slender wrists to 
tell the whole world that she belonged to this man. 

There were whippings but only a few. And usually when she misbehaved. And 
usually with the riding crop upon her bottom. That hurt enough but she 
always remembered how much more the small whip had hurt while it was 
punishing her breasts and pussy. She accepted those times of punishment and 
the wonderful lovemaking that followed with a strange mixture of loathing 
and passion she could not understand, only enjoy. 

It was a wonderful time for both of them. The worst whipping of this 
carefree period came when she had refused to cooperate with one of Greg's 
games, spoiling his fun. But she had considered it preferable to be whipped 
in the privacy of his basement dungeon than to jog down the street wearing 
only a pair of handcuffs. Perhaps he had known she would refuse to job 
around the block and it was merely a way to make her feel that the 
punishment was her fault. Or perhaps he had truly expected her to job down 
the street with hands cuffed before her and not a stitch of clothing on. It 
wasn't a crowded neighborhood, after all. 

She was taken down to the dungeon, a room of many uses around the walls of 
which were many instruments of punishment. For the ritual whipping, Greg had 
chosen a single post, standing starkly on center stage and at a height well 
above a girl's head. It held a ring to either side. Automatically Daphene 
lifted guilty hands to allow her lover to snap the wristlets to either side 
to leave her standing with back and bottom beautifully exposed. 

Daphene found herself strangely calm. In the context of the game they played 
she had undoubtedly sinned, and this fact, coupled with her love for the man 
who would wield the whip, made a strange comfort in a sort of logic by which 
her predicament became one which she could accept without demure. In spite 
of the riding crop and the little whip, she was still very much a novice in 
receiving corporal punishment. She and Greg had talked of it often but 
rarely did it happen. And when it did it was usually only a dozen strokes, 
just enough to ignite the fires within both their loins and assure a joyous 
coupling of their naked bodies. 

Then, as she stood facing the brutal post, with hands fastened above her 
head, she watched this fresh penalty in avid female curiosity as to how her 
master would behave and she react. 

Greg always extracted the ultimate cringe. He explained carefully and with 
much concern that the riding crop was not the only whip he would use that 
day, the little whip reserved for her breasts and pussy would be used. But 
he did not state which target it would seek that day, and Daphene was left 
wondering if she could keep her legs close enough together to keep the 
wicked little thing from finding her most private place. With her hands held 
up she could not protect her breasts, but perhaps she could shield her 
pussy. After all, Greg had not bound her in such a way as to expose that 
area. And, she added to herself, he had bound her facing the post. That 
partly shielded her breasts although they tended to rest on either side of 
the wood when she was close to the post. 

With much show, he set both the riding crop and the little whip on a chair 
in plain sight of the naked and bound girl, then stripped off his shirt. 
Daphene beheld the instruments that would soon be inflicting pain on her 
soft skin and cringed. 

It hurt terribly when he slashed across her bottom with the riding crop and 
she gasped in agony. Quickly two more cuts followed the first, forming an X 
across her bottom. Then he settled down to a slower pace, one that allowed 
her to feel each fiery stroke and savor the burning aftermath across her 
skin. Perhaps the first three quick strokes had simply been his way of 
saying that she was to get a serious whipping this time, not the usual 
painful but hardly serious punishment. 

With a logical part of her mind she noted that he was covering the total 
area of her bottom globes, spacing each stroke and angle for maximum 
coverage. She bit back cries of anguish but could not hold in the whines and 
moans such pain evoked in any girl. She guessed it was a dozen strokes when 
he paused but she had lost count and could not be sure. The pain and burn 
mixed with erotic excitement of her body in strange yet wonderful ways, and 
put her into a mild trance in which she was gloriously aware of what was 
happening to her but didn't really care. With each stroke across her tender 
skin, she loved the man who held the whip more. 

He did not speak but she sensed without looking around that he had put down 
the riding crop and was picking up the small whip with the short tongs. She 
braced herself mentally but the first stroke was long, agonizing seconds in 
coming. When she was about to turn her head over her shoulder to look, fire 
suddenly burst out in her left breast. Looking down she saw a thin line of 
red across the top of her breast, and she gasped at the sudden pain. There 
was still no way she could lower her hands to protect those lovely, firm 
breasts, and pushing herself into the post only made them squash oddly in 
the middle and balloon out on the sides. A second stroke across her right 
breast generated a yelp of alarm which she bit off as quickly as she could. 
Why she didn't want to scream when the pain so demanded it, she didn't know, 
but it was somehow important. 

Looking up, she saw her hands twisting and tugging at the leather cuffs 
which held them. Fire again exploded in her left breast, this time on the 
underside as a wicked upward stroke made the flesh giggled with impact. The 
very tip of the whip had caught the nipple and Daphene did scream out her 
anguish with a short, very loud cry. Tears began forming in her eyes as she 
tried not to cry. 

Twice more each breast was slashed with the small whip so that each was 
crossed with vivid red marks and hurt terribly. Then he returned to the 
riding crop and again covered the territory of her bottom, from hips to 
thighs, leaving very little flesh unmarked. After a dozen more strokes, each 
lovingly placed and spaced out, the came another pause. Daphene sucked in 
her breather and held it. Would his hands now explore her marked body, 
signaling an end to the whipping? Or would he pick up the small whip again 
to mark her breasts further. 

"Step back from the post and spread your legs wide," came the order she 
dreaded. But disobedience never entered her mind as she shuffled her bare 
feet back and apart until she was leaning against the post with her forehead 
resting against it. She felt the tip of the small whip tapping lightly at 
her vagina and tensed her body. Yet no thought of protest or pleading 
crossed her mind. Such as not part of the game, and she was sure that Greg 
would ignore outcries from her. Or produce the gag to silence them. She 
closed her eyes and braced herself for the blow. 

But the pain was something she could not brace herself for. It shot up into 
her body like a lightning bolt, setting her pussy on fire and making her 
scream with full voice. She quickly jerked her legs together as if squeezing 
her pussy between her legs would help diminish the pain. 

"Oh, my god, Greg! It's terrible! The pain, the pain...." 

Greg smiled as he patted her vividly red, black and blue bottom, then told 
her to spread them again. 

"Oh, Greg, no! Please don't make me do that. The pain was terrible." 

"It will be worse if I don't count that stroke towards your total. And I 
will start the count over if you don't spread your legs." 

Daphene complied although it took every ounce of courage she had. Greg took 
measure with the small whip again. The swish as it came up between her legs 
was followed by a splatting sound and then a scream from the injured woman. 
Again she clamped her legs together and nearly fell to one side of the post. 

Without being told to, she again spread her legs as soon as she could 
control her body enough to do so. The third stroke was a minute in coming. 
It came as Daphene was opening her eyes and about to look around to see if 
he had put the whip down. She actually saw the black leather thong come up 
between her legs and watched its tip curve around the front of her pussy to 
impact right on her clit. She screamed and hugged her legs together in 
violent protest to the terrible pain. 

"Only two more to go, dear," came the calm assurance from her master. "Only 
five total between your legs. Surely that's not too many." 

Sucking in her breath, Daphene forced her legs apart and back from the post 
to position herself yet again for the worst pain she had ever felt in her 
life. She told herself that five was easy for him to give to her. If he were 
the one taking five up between his legs ... She dropped the thought as 
number four impacted. It was perhaps not as painful. But she wasn't sure if 
that were because he didn't hit as hard or because her pussy was getting 
numb from the shock and pain. Number five was definitely as bad as number 
three had been, mostly because the tip of the thong against curled up to 
strike at her most sensitive part. 

When Greg put down the whip, it was a crying and very sore Daphene who stood 
there hugging the post and clenching her legs together. Unable to restrain 
his own excitement at the beautiful sight of her multi-colored bottom and 
trembling muscles, he jerked down his pants, and roughly pulled Daphene's 
legs apart and back, almost as they had been for the whipping. But instead 
of a whip crashing into her flesh, his rod, rock hard and rigidly ready, was 
thrust up between her legs, and deeply into her sheath. She cried out in 
pain as the abused flesh was invaded by this male organ, but that cry of 
pain soon turned to moans of pleasure as he expertly and vigorously pumped 
his rod in her sheath. Quickly she built up to an explosive climax to be 
followed in a few seconds by Greg's. Tightly he hugged her hips and bottom 
against his hips as he spent his load inside her and she trembled with pure 
ecstasy. Long, long minutes later he let go of her and she almost fell 
against the post. 

The pain and pleasure were inseparable in her dazed mind. She came slowly 
back to the real world to find that she was alone in the dungeon, still 
bound to the post, and with a very sore pussy and bottom. Her breasts hurt, 
too, but that was nothing compared to the burning in her sex. 

For a long time she pressed herself against the post as the warm afterglow 
of intercourse faded. Finally she was able to stand but still had two hours 
to wait before the return of her master. 

"Did it hurt much?" came the voice from behind her. "Wonderfully," was her 
reply. "Burn?" 

"All my pussy is on Fire. And sore as hell. But I feel good." She smiled a 
weak smile at her master. "I wouldn't want to do this every day...." 

"Of course not. You don't think I'm a cruel Master, do you?" 

"Certainly not." He could not tell if there was any sarcasm in her voice. 
Finally he went on to the next subject. "If I tell you to go jogging around 
the block, will you do it?" 

"Yes." The reply was weak. "Hmmm ... Well, perhaps one day we'll see about 
that." 

"Yes, Master." Even in the aftermath of pain and sexual ecstasy, Daphene 
could contrive a sarcastic reply. Or was it? She had a very dreaming look 
about her face, even this long after the whipping. Maybe she was sincerely 
telling him that she would be happy to go jogging around the whole town, 
naked and with wrists joined before her, if he only gave the word. 

Later, in the bathroom, Daphene examined her pussy with one leg propped up 
on the sink. She had expected to see bleeding slashes covering it and was 
almost disappointed when there was only redness and swelling. 

They made love again that night, with Daphene wearing the collar around her 
neck and resting on her bruised bottom. Her pussy protested with pain as he 
entered her but that pain merged into the pleasure and soon she could not 
tell them apart. It was wonderful coupling and she clutched her arms around 
his back and hugged his hips with her legs as hard as she could. 

The next day she managed a soothing bath after Greg left for his office. The 
handcuffs and leg irons didn't hamper her much, only forcing her to sit on 
the edge of the tub when getting in and out. She spent a long time in the 
warm water until it cooled down. 

She surprised herself by washing her hair and blow-drying it with cuffed 
wrists. Hand in front, she told herself, really don't hamper a girl much. 
After her hair was done nicely in rich waves that framed her lovely face, 
she turned to examine her bottom in the mirror. It was not cut to pieces, 
either, but was a wonderful mixture of colors and welts that almost made her 
gasp. How very strangely she admired those marks that had cost so much pain 
to gain. And yet she remembered the pain too. It was a never ending source 
of bewilderment to her that she should so love and hate the same thing. 

Their lovemaking that night was intense and wonderful. She felt the pain 
from bruised bottom as he pounded his hips into hers but it was all a part 
of the incredible pleasure. She fell asleep in his arms with the chain from 
her collar training off to the solid metal ring where the heavy padlock 
assured that she would be in bed when morning came. 

Part of her really didn't ever want to repeat that whipping. The pain had 
been terrible, no matter how much pleasure came with it. But she also knew 
that she would not protest if her master again sentenced her to such 
punishment. She would do her best to avoid it but not protest if it 
happened. Perhaps, she told herself, that's what it really means to be a 
slavegirl. 

It was also some kind of turning point in Daphene's life, in her road to 
totally slavery. She didn't think of her life with Greg as that, but had she 
been honest with herself, that would have been a good way to express what 
was happening to her. She was being trained to be a slavegirl for this 
master. And she loved it. How very strange that she should love this man 
more intensely the more he punished her. Daphene shook her head in 
disbelief. But she was smiling as she did it. 

In the days that followed, Greg left his darling bound or chained according 
to the mood of the moment. Quite often her hands were tied behind her back 
as though once more to provoke her to free the knots and greet him in the 
evening with open arms. Daphene never managed this, and since no punishment 
was forthcoming, had little incentive to chaff her wrists by struggling. She 
laughed at his vague threats at unnamed punishment that awaited if she 
didn't manage to free herself some day soon. She found herself-loving those 
days when her wrists were corded behind her back and became quite happy when 
he would go off leaving her with bound wrists and shackled ankles. 

Any day she wished she could have walked out the front door and sought her 
freedom on the streets. But the idea never crossed her mind. 

Greg sprang the next surprise without much warning. He made his words as 
casual as he could and watched his lovebird for signs of shock. "Daphene, my 
sweet, this afternoon I'm throwing a stag party with you as the hostess. So 
when I leave you will not be bound or chained, and I want you to dress in 
anything you like and go out to shop for the refreshments, wine and the hard 
stuff. You know the kind of stuff that people will wish they hadn't eaten 
the next day. I don't have to tell you where to go and what to do. You've 
done that with me before. What do you say to that?" 

Daphene was not too sure what she thought of it. But the idea of once again 
wearing one of the lovely dresses in the closet and leaving the house to 
wander pretty much as she pleased was just too much. She kissed her owner 
avidly and whispered in his ear that, of course, she would love to do the 
things he asked. 

"I'll bring home a couple of things I want you to wear," Greg told her in a 
tone she recognized. "You'll be the only girl and you'll entertain the 
guests. You won't be wearing much but that's something you're used to. Can 
you handle it?" 

"I can handle what you've told me, darling, but are you sure there isn't 
something else?" 

"If there is, you'll find out soon enough," he replied with a smile. "In the 
meantime don't worry your lovely head about anything else. Guests will start 
arriving about five o'clock, but I'll be home early to give you a hand." 

"You mean we'll be having a party instead of dinner?" 

"There'll be substantial food here, you'll make sure of that. And get a few 
roasted birds for the boys to pick on while they watch you walk." 

"Oh, Greg, you're not going to have me chained, are you? Not before all 
those men!" 

"The boys would love you like that but you need your freedom to play the 
hostess role. Do your duty now, my sweet, and I'll see you later." 

Despite some faint misgivings, Daphene was tingling with excitement as she 
chose the things she was going to wear. By the time she walked out into the 
fresh air of the street, she was excited enough for anything. And she did 
her shopping in an air of joyous abandon, realizing that she had failed to 
heed her own need of change, a holiday, exactly the thing Greg was providing 
for her. She stopped at a beauty salon to have her hair done over and her 
nails fixed. She even considered shopping for a new dress, but Greg had said 
that he would bring something for her to wear. Any new dress would probably 
stay in the closet for the evening. Still, it was tempting. And his credit 
card was almost endless. 

Everything went as planned and the excitement which kept Daphene quivering 
did not diminished. It was, in fact, enhanced when Greg showed her his 
choice for her clothing. There was a bra and a pair of briefs, both entirely 
wicked and causing the captive girl to exclaim, "But, Greg, that's 
underwear! I'll look worse than naked. Must I really wear them?" 

"You must!" Her clothes already discarded, Daphene first tired on the briefs 
which were like no briefs she had ever seen before. They were an artful 
cross between a Gee string and a pair of panties, and fitted her so tightly 
they revealed far more than they hid. She giggled at her sight in the 
mirror. "But, Greg, they'll be able to see my pussy! It's even worse than 
when I'm naked. It's as if the panties highlight my pussy." 

"You look lovely in them." Next there was the bra, which was laughable as 
protection for her breasts. It most definitely a see-through with the added 
bonus of lifting the large breasts just a little to make them stand out even 
more than they normally did. And she could feel her nipples rub against the 
silky material in a way that she would normally have found delightful but 
now protested against. "Greg, my nipples will stay rigid all night. It will 
look like I'm sexually excited all the time." 

Greg said nothing but grinned that silly, little-boy grin of his. 

Looking at herself in the mirror, Daphene sighed, "They're beautiful and 
gorgeous, but, darling, I'd rather be naked. That would not look so 
indecent." 

"Who said anything about being descent? Dressed like that, you'll be the 
center of attention. Be sure to stick out your chest at all times for the 
full effect. Come on, sweetheart, that was the first ring at the door. 
Answer it." 

For Daphene the first guest were a shock like icy water. Their eyes 
instantly riveted on the small trifles Greg had her wearing. Daphene laughed 
inwardly at the obvious effort the male required to make his eyes behave and 
show some faint interest in Greg. Daphene knew full well that Greg was 
enjoying his friend's discomfort. It seemed a good start to the evening. 

The shock effect soon wore off as Daphene moved among the guest, offering 
drinks and conversation as needed. She could feel the constant stares roving 
over her body and was secretly proud that men should find her so attractive. 
As with most any woman, she enjoyed showing off her fine figure to 
appreciative males. There were contacts between her scantily clad body and 
the males, some unintentional, some very carefully planned. But she didn't 
mind the occasionally hand brushing her bottom, or the arm pressed against 
her breast. It was delightful and harmless play that made her feel proud 
that she could do it. 

She even began to brush her nipples against a male arm here and there, 
accidentally, of course. It was delightful play. 

The assembled males, filled with food and drink, speculated on the status of 
the nearly naked woman who enlivened their evening. Was she Greg's 
girlfriend or was she simply a lady of the evening who would make herself 
available as required. Wilh growing erections, the gentlemen sought answers, 
answers which Greg refused to give, and which the girl evaded with a 
humorous quip or, if they were too persistent, simply moving her presence 
elsewhere. by the time the levels in the bottles were half way down, Greg 
further complicated the speculations by drawing his beloved to one side 
where he quietly handcuffed unresisting wrists. He then returned her to the 
crowd, more lovely than before. A fresh loveliness most of the boys 
appreciated immensely. However, the lovely silver bracelets were soon the 
subject of a dozen conversations and the speculation as to their true 
meaning ran high. Some thought it was a sure sign that she was, indeed, only 
a hired prostitute. Others thought that perhaps she was his girlfriend, and 
this was his way of showing it to all present. A couple smiled knowingly and 
suspected the truth. Those were the ones who recognized the almost faded 
marks from her last whipping. 

Daphene was well aware of her being the center of attention, even that some 
of those present looked knowingly at her whip marks. She pushed her breasts 
out a little further and walked with a little more wiggle in her rear. 

Greg was not the man to allow a mood to fade. The excitement engendered by 
Daphene's handcuffs were increased after Greg had taken his beloved to his 
bedroom and showed her the new leg irons he had promised. They were so 
beautiful they evoked gasps of astonishment and pleasure from the nearly 
naked girl. They were true leg irons, true shackles, a broad silver band for 
each ankle and a short but stout chain linking them. She would not walk 
normally but she didn't care. When worn with handcuffs, they made that girl 
extremely helpless. Even those who had not noticed the handcuffs, or 
pretended not to, must certainly now take attention of the new restrictions 
on this beautiful young woman. The swirl of silver chain between her ankles 
made a sweet music. "Once more into the breech, dear girl," Greg said as he 
locked diem snugly upon her ankles. "Go and entertain my guests." He carried 
her down the stairs to save time. 

Daphene was now grateful for having spent plenty of time thus hobbled before 
this day. It made her able to move gracefully among the guests. And since 
she had a couple of drinks herself, she was very much in the mood for the 
thrust and parry of male comments, jibs, and outright suggestive talk. When 
asked why her steps were thus restricted, she gaily replied that it was to 
insure die safety of her sex since now her feet could not be spread apart. 

The guests were in a happy mood, and insisted upon examining Daphene's 
anklets. That also gave them the chance to be close to her lovely 
near-nakedness, to brush against her leg or breasts and enjoy the nearness 
of a restricted and beautiful woman. She was the life of the party. To one 
guest's question if was she really safe, she spread her legs as wide apart 
as the links would allow and dared him to fit his body between them. She 
laughed along with the men as they envisioned themselves trying to 
accomplish a rape while she was so restrained. Her laughter paused only a 
second as one man suggested that perhaps she could be bent over and taken 
from the back side, a maneuver that did not require much separation of her 
legs, he pointed out. But giggled at the thought and told him he was 
certainly right but not to try it in front of all the guests. 

After all who wished to had examined her shackled, Greg called her aside and 
quickly changed her handcuffs from front to behind her back. Now she could 
no longer serve drinks but the men didn't seem to mind. Their male instinct 
told them that this girl was now much more helpless and that attracted them 
to her. Daphene was delighted at the additional attention. 

Daphene was sipping a drink offered by a gentlemen when she noticed that 
Greg was whispering in the ear of a man in the corner. A minute later she 
observed him doing the same with a different man, a man who smiled at 
whatever was being told him in confidence. Daphene could not be sure but she 
thought that Greg had whispered in about half the ears present. 

Since the hour was growing late, Greg announced that the little party was 
coming to an end. One by one the guests exited, each saying a sad good-bye 
to the nearly naked and chained girl who stood by the door to wish them a 
safe journey home. Within fifteen minutes the leaving guests ceased coming 
by her and she turned to tell Greg how much she had enjoyed the party. It 
was then that she realized there was still a group in the front room, a 
group of perhaps ten men, most of whom she had seen Greg whispering in the 
ear of. 

Greg was coming towards her, smiling sweetly all the time. "Dear," he began, 
"I'm going to put on a little show for some of the boys. Nothing fancy, just 
a little rope bondage to go along with the leg irons and handcuffs." 

"But most of your guests have gone," she protested. "These boys are those 
who most enjoyed your little show. I asked them to stay because I thought 
they would appreciate seeing a little strict rope bondage." 

With that he swept Daphene into his arms and carried her up the stairs to 
the bedroom. Once there he unlocked the handcuffs and bound her arms behind 
her back with cotton clothesline, first the wrists with palm to palm, then 
the elbows, both tightly together and cinched extremely tightly down. "Oh, 
Greg, that's hurting me! Not so tight." 

"It looks better, dear," he said. "We wouldn't want our guests to think we 
practiced loose bondage, would we?" He sat her down on the edge of the bed 
and bound her legs together, at the ankles, then above and below the knees. 
All those ropes were wrapped tight and cinched down even tighter. Then he 
picked her effortlessly up and carried her back downstairs. 

Setting her down in the middle of the room and men, he told her, "Put on a 
nice show, dear. You're on display." 

Daphene was not too happy with the tightness of the ropes but she smiled to 
all those present and tried to turn around in a circle by taking tiny steps 
with her bound feet. Several times she almost fell down but was rescued by 
willing hands which lingered longer than necessary on those choice parts of 
her body she could not protect. 

After her full turn to give everyone in the audience a good view, Daphene, 
fully in the spirit of the evening, asked if they would like to see her 
hogtied. Greg, she assured them, would be happy to do it, and it really was 
a most restrictive bondage position for a girl. She became most helpless and 
unable to move when her ankles were tied up to her hands, folding her legs 
back against her bottom. 

"Good idea," Greg said, coming up behind her. "But first a little addition 
we'll all like." Suddenly the rubber wad of the gag was filling her mouth, 
shoved quickly and deeply in place. And it was buckled tightly before she 
could even protest. Daphene sighed to herself and figured that if Greg was 
going to put on a bondage show with her, he would be making it a good one 
and she had no choice but to go alone with the proceedings. 

In the center of her circle, Daphene stood, uncertain as to what was 
expected of her. She could perhaps turn around again, but she wasn't certain 
if Greg didn't want to add something more first. She looked to him. 

"I'm sure you'll all agree that this lovely woman is now completely 
helpless, totally bound up, gagged, and unable to do anything." There were 
numerous comments of agreement and delight. Daphene glowed even more at 
being the center of attention. This was very uncomfortable, but fun, she 
decided. Perhaps she could tell Greg that he ought to do it more often. 

"Therefore," Greg continued, "it's time now for the auction." 

 CHAPTER FOUR - Sold Slavegirl 

Daphene's heart skipped a beat. Auction? Had she heard right? She looked to 
Greg and saw from that glint in his eyes and the boyish grin on his face 
that he was serious. She whined a tiny whine of protest. 

"This lovely young slavegirl will be auctioned off to the highest bidder," 
he continued in a fine, loud voice. "She will be taken home by the winner 
and kept for the entire weekend. This if Friday, she will be brought back on 
Sunday evening." He looked around at his silent, very attentive audience. 
"She will be your slavegirl," he continued grandly. "You may use her as you 
wish ... Anyway you wish...." 

His words brought a collective intake of breath from the assembled group. 
And a gasp of shock from the bound girl. She almost fell forward in 
surprise. 

"That's right, anything you want you can do to this lovely young thing. Keep 
her bound up all weekend. Screw her until your phallus falls off. Even," his 
voice lowered to show the importance of the next words, "even whip her ... 
She will be yours to do with as you please. Now, who will start the 
bidding?" 

Daphene whined through the gag and tried to catch Greg's eyes to tell him 
that he had gone too far. But then she remembered their conversation weeks 
before and her promising to go alone with the idea if he promised that he 
would be the one who bought her. She sighed deeply and relaxed her nervous 
body. This was just a show for these special guests. She would be bought by 
Greg and they would spent that promised weekend with her being his private 
slavegirl. 

Hesitant at first, possibly because some were unsure if Greg was serious, 
possibly because some were trying to calculate how much they should pay for 
this lovely thing, bidding started. Quickly the men present were licking 
their lips and offering more thousands of dollars than Daphene believed 
possible. Surely these men wouldn't really pay that much money for a couple 
days ownership of a slavegirl. But they seemed serious. Greg seemed serious. 
The only one not going along with die scene was Daphene who was not sure she 
liked the turn Greg's little show had taken. True, it was thrilling to be 
standing nearly naked before so many men, helpless bound up and gagged, and 
being sold to the highest bidder. And she felt that old heat beginning in 
her loins, the old heat that came to her whenever she was helpless and being 
controlled by another person. She was an observer only, she could do nothing 
to effect the outcome of this little scene. So she watched and wondered who 
would come second highest to Greg. it was dies that she noticed that Greg 
was not bidding. He was die auctioneer, taking bids, trying to drive the 
price up, and glowingly describing the delights of this captive slavegirl. 
But he was not bidding! Suddenly Daphene felt a sinking feeling in the pit 
of her stomach. Greg was really going to sell her! 

Just as she was about to cry out as loudly as she could to get his attention 
and call the whole thing off, Greg reached over and with one savage jerk 
ripped her bra from her body. The flimsy material tore easily and her 
lovely, very large breasts were suddenly free and pointing proudly forward. 
It as the way her elbows were bound behind her back, of course, that made 
they point straight out so, but the effect was still wonderful. 

She could almost feel the male lust filling the room. 

Then Greg's hand was upon the waist of her scanty panties. One second it 
just rested here, the next it was gone and with it the panties. The force of 
her panties being ripped off almost made her fall but a male hand steadies 
her from the side until she could again stand by herself. 

She tried to call his name but the gag muffled her words into pitiful whines 
that were more laughable than serious. She shook her head so violently from 
side to side that she almost fell again. But all male eyes were upon her 
lovely body and she could almost feel the erections filling the room. 

The bidding resumed and reached new heights. She wondered if some of those 
men were bidding on a house rather than a girl for a weekend, the amounts 
were so unbelievable. But finally the bidding slowed and soon only two men 
were still in the running. All others had sad looks on their faces. 

When Greg accepted a final bid, Daphene was surprised at how high it was. 
But by then she had come to accept that Greg was not going to buy her 
himself. The man who had offered the winning bid was a tall, slightly gray 
-haired man who she remembered as being named Bill. He was grinning like a 
little boy on Christmas morning. 

With pleading eyes, Daphene tried to get Greg's attention, but he was too 
busy making arrangements with Bill, no doubt arrangements for payment of 
that money. And, perhaps, for delivery of one bound up slavegirl. 

Finally the party was really over. Greg said good-bye to his guests, all 
except Bill. Daphene was not standing by the door to bid them a safe 
journey. Instead she was standing in the middle of the room, still naked, 
still bound, still gagged, and still very disappointed at Greg. And more 
than a little afraid. After all, what girl wouldn't be scared by the 
prospect of being taken off as a naked and bound up package by a stranger 
for a weekend of who knew what? 

Then there was Greg and Bill and Daphene, all standing around looking at 
each other without saying a word. 

"You want to bring your car into the garage?" Greg asked of Bill. "I'll help 
you load her in your car. Bill nodded and was escorted to the front door by 
Greg. 

A few seconds later Greg was back, but only to pick Daphene up like a sack 
of potatoes and carry her to the door that led to the garage. He pressed the 
button that would open the huge garage door, and waited until he heard 
Bill's car pull in and stop. Then he pushed the button again to close the 
door. He carried her into the garage and sat her down beside a long, dark 
blue Lincoln Town Car. 

"Back seat or trunk?" he asked in a cheerful tone. Bill frowned for a moment 
and then unlocked his trunk. "Less likely to be seen," he explained. 

As the two of them lifted the naked girl to place her in the trunk, she 
began wiggling and shaking her body. "Doesn't want to go along," commented 
Bill. 

"Just part of the show. She is suppose to act like all this is against her 
will. But you remember how much fun she was having back inside when she was 
walking around wearing not much and all chained up. She loves this. Believe 
me." 

Bill smiled. Male strength prevailed and Daphene found herself laying on her 
side in the trunk with the rough carpeting scratching her skin. Greg 
produced a short length of rope from his pocket. "Little something extra to 
keep her under control," he said as he tied one end to the ropes around her 
ankles. Then he passed the other end up to those ropes linking her elbows 
and around them. When he pulled Daphene's legs doubled up until her feet 
were somewhere around the level of her bottom and her body was arched in a 
tight hogtie. He tied the ropes back at her ankles and jerked the knots 
tight. 

"Nice little package," he said with pride. "And she won't be giving you any 
trouble. Remember, keep her in constant bondage, at least handcuffs and leg 
irons. You do have handcuffs, don't you?" 

Bill nodded. "Good. You can use a pair of handcuffs as leg irons, her ankles 
are slender enough. But keep her under control at all times. Never give her 
a single chance to escape. Right?" 

"Of course," agreed Bill with a smile. Daphene's heart sank as she realized 
the this Bill was undoubted expert at keeping a girl tied or chained up. Why 
else would he admit to having handcuffs? And why would he promise to keep 
her constantly restricted unless he thought he could do it? She wondered 
darkly how much else this man was an expert at. She would have spit at Greg 
for doing this to her had not her mouth been filled with horrible tasting 
gag. 

"I guess that's it. See you Sunday evening." Greg turned to the trussed up 
girl in the trunk. "Have fun, Daphene, sweet." He patted her on the flank 
and closed the lid with a slam. After a minute Daphene felt the car backing 
out of the garage. In the darkness she was crying, both from the pain of the 
tight ropes, and from anger and frustration. She cursed Greg for being ... 
Well, for begin Greg. She loved him but sometimes he went a ltttle too far. 

On the long trip, Daphene had time to let the tears flow until they stopped 
of their own accord. Then she had time to consider this escalation of their 
little games. It was one thing to be shown off before all those men. A 
harmless little game and exciting, both for her and Greg, and certainly for 
those men. And she didn't mind when the display of her lovely body turned to 
tight ropes. She liked being tightly bound up. And she liked the way men 
reacted to her nudity all bound up and helpless. It gave her a strange sense 
of power to know that she could evoke such strong emotions from men. 

But this was something different. He had actually given her to another man. 
And that man was given carte blanche to use her body as he wished, even to 
whip her. Daphene did not want to have a strange man performing sexual 
intercourse on her. It was nothing short of rape, and she hated the thought 
of it. And she began to wonder if Greg loved her as much as she loved him. 
If he did, he would never have allowed this terrible thing to happen to her. 

Bill's house began, for the naked and tightly bound Daphene, with a huge 
garage housing several expensive automobiles. 

Blinking at the overhead light as she was lifted out of the trunk, Daphene 
could two expensive looking Italian sports cars next to the town car she was 
being extracted from, a black Rolls Royce on the other side, a large 
Mercedes in the corner. Unsteadily she tried to hold her balance after he 
had set her upon her feet but nearly fell before he came back. Behind him 
she could see an open door he had apparently just unlocked. He picked her up 
over his shoulder like a sack and carried her through that door, down a 
short corridor, and through second door into another world. 

Daphene realized where she was as soon as the lights came on. It was a 
dungeon. There was no mistaking a room so functional and devoted to maiden 
suffering. There was a pillory to the left, a padded table with metal ring 
set in the sides in the center, a rack on the right, and a tiny iron barred 
cage suspended from the ceiling. There were also numerous ropes, chains, 
handcuffs, and assorted shackles hanging from hooks in the walls, as well as 
a large selection of hooks and rings all over the room. It was a bondage 
lovers delight 

"You like it," asked Bill after setting Daphene on her feet but where she 
could lean against the padded table for support. "I had this room made 
especially for those occasions when I feel like mistreating a girl. All the 
devices are functional." He paused to gage Daphene's reactions but was 
defeated by the leather covering her lower face. It was hard to tell what 
the naked girl was thinking from just her eyes. Beyond being in pain, that 
was. 

"The house is set on a hillside and this room was dug out of the earth under 
the main house. Right over our heads is the dinning room. Well, about six 
feet of good insulation and concrete above our heads. Believe me, nothing 
going on down here will ever be heard above." He closed the door. Daphene 
looked around and noted that there wasn't any windows. A slight sound told 
her that there were fans working to provide fresh air to this underground 
room. 

"Let me take that gag from your mouth, it looks very uncomfortable. And 
you're now in a room where you may scream all you want to no avail." 

Daphene was most happy to be rid of the rubber wad and that tight leather 
bindings that held it in. For a minute she moved her aching jaw around to 
get it working again before launching into her pleadings. 

"Oh, please, Bill, let me go! That whole auction was just a farce, a game 
Greg dreamed up to impress his friends." 

"I'm impressed." 

"I was not suppose to be sold." she continued as if she hadn't heard him. 
"Greg was suppose to buy me" 

"I bought you," Bill said calmly. "But that's not right. It was only a 
little game." 

"Life is only a game, my dear. And we must play our parts like actors on a 
stage. Your part is that of a slavegirl who has just been sold to a new 
master." 

Daphene gritted her teeth and held in a cry of frustration. "Don't you men 
know that you're not suppose to own women? Not in this day and age. It isn't 
legal." 

"Greg seemed to own you," he quietly retorted. "He kept you chained up and 
bound you with ropes just to show you off to friends. He even sold you. I'd 
say that sounds like he owned you." 

"He ... Well, I sort of ... Well, it isn't like that. He didn't own me. 
Well, he did, sort of ... Oh, shit!" She bit her lip in frustration. This 
was starting out like one of her arguments with Greg. One of those she 
couldn't win and never did. "Well, we had an agreement. But he shouldn't 
have sold me. If you'll just untie me and let me go back home, we'll forget 
about the whole thing." 

"I have just paid a great deal of money for you, Miss Daphene." 

"Greg will refund it. Or not cash the check, or whatever. You'll get your 
money back." 

"I don't want my money back. I want you." He said it so calmly and assured 
that Daphene was stopped in her tracks. Instinct told her that this man 
would have to have something from this whole affair. Daphene just hoped that 
it would to sexual intercourse performed on her unwilling body. Ordering him 
would get her nowhere. If he were like Greg, it would only get her punished. 
Perhaps she could try another tack. 

"Okay, you've got me. It's obvious I'm helpless." She accented her words 
with a shake of her torso with all those ropes cutting deeply into her 
flesh. "You've seen me all naked and tied up and even handled me. Is that 
enough? I mean, would you be satisfied with just keeping me a prisoner, all 
nicely bound up, for a day, and then returning me to Greg?" 

Bill smiled in an understanding way. "I will keep you bound up, that is for 
sure. I enjoy having beautiful young women totally bound up and helpless." 
He paused expectantly. 

"And, if you really wanted to maybe you could give my bottom a little ... A 
little spanking?" She was hoping she was hitting the right note. 

"A whipping, perhaps?" he replied. "A small whipping," Daphene came back 
with. "A mild whipping with a leather belt. That would hurt me a lot and you 
could enjoy watching me dance around each time you hit me." 

"And...?" Daphene bit her lip again. What could she offer him to get his 
mind off raping her? "I'll be suffering a lot," she continued. "From your 
ropes and being confined in this ... This dungeon. I'll be one sorry little 
slavegirl." 

"And...?" You could put a leash on me and make me crawl around on all fours 
and bark like a dog?" 

"Not interested. What else?" 

"I'll kneel before you and call you 'Master.'" Daphene was trying to think 
of those things that Greg liked. The trouble was Greg liked making her 
suffer and screwing her, usually in that order. "I'll be ever so humble and 
obedient." 

"I know you will. But you don't have to call me 'Master', I've never been 
into that type of games." 

"Well, I could ... That is, I would be ... Well, what do you want of me?" 

"You are a very beautiful woman, Daphene. Your body is the best that I've 
ever seen in over forty years of looking. And with my money to help, I've 
seen many, many naked women. Quite a few have graced my little dungeon here. 
You have a perfect body." 

Daphene did not answer. Where this conversation was going was obvious but 
she was not going to be the first to say it out loud. And she certainly did 
not want it. Sex with Greg was one thing. Sex with Greg while bound tightly 
was one thing. Sex with Greg while extremely sore from a whipping, and 
tightly bound up was one thing. But being raped by a stranger was quite 
another. Daphene felt a little thrill at the thought of being so helpless 
that she could not prevent that act, but she really didn't want it to 
happen. 

After a minute of silence, Bill went on. "I bought you with the 
understanding that I could do anything to you and your body. And male lusts 
being what they are ... You surely won't mind if I were to satisfy my desire 
for that perfect body by the natural, normal and very enjoyable act of sex?" 

"I do mind. I don't want it." 

"You'll be quite tightly tied down when it happens," he offered, as if that 
were a compromise she would be glad to accept. 

"I don't want it." Bill sighed, then took a different approach. "What 
slavegirls want is of little importance. What their owners want is 
everything." 

Daphene swallowed hard. That was that, she guessed. There seemed no way she 
could talk this man out of raping her helpless body. 

Bill was removing his tie. "It's getting late, my dear. Perhaps we should be 
getting on with the main attraction." 

"What will your wife think of this?" A shot in the dark. 

"First off she won't know, she's in the south of France spending my money as 
if it were endless. Second, she is probably right now laying ked beside some 
French gigolo who is twenty years her junior after having made him pour 
honey all over her body and lick every bit off, her favorite perversion. 
Tomorrow morning she'll probably make him lick orange marmalade off. She 
likes that almost as much as honey. You see, dear, we all have our little 
perversions. My wife and I have an agreement to let each other play those 
games we like. Works out well for us. See?" 

Daphene saw. No help from his spouse. "Well, can't you simply be a gentleman 
and not rape me?" It was last ditch time. 

"I intend to be a gentleman. I'll thank you politely afterwards. But until 
then I intend to be all man and, as they say in all those old Victorian 
novels, 'have my way with you'. And now we've talked enough." 

"But...." Daphene started to protest, to stall, anything but face her fate. 

"Silence." The command was not given harshly but Daphene knew this man was 
serious. For a second Bill looked at her lovely face, still red marked where 
the gag straps had pressed into it. Then he reached for the discarded gag. 
"Probably be better if you have nothing to say about this." 

Daphene tried to pull away from the gag even if it meant she would fall but 
his hand caught the back of her head and held her firm. The hated rubber wad 
again invaded her mouth, forcing her tongue down and stifling her cries. The 
naked girl shook all over with anger and frustration. She was so powerless 
in the hands of this man, so completely under his control that she could do 
nothing. 

He sat her on the edge of the padded table and untied her legs, slowly 
pulling the indented cords from her flesh as if enjoying the way her skin 
seemed reluctant to give up the cords. Daphene considered, for a brief 
moment, kicking him someplace where it would hurt and making a dash for 
freedom. But with her arms still bound tightly behind her back she would 
have trouble even opening the door. And what could she do, naked and bound 
and gagged, even if she did get past that first door? He would catch her, 
that was for sure. And then she might face a punishment worse than what was 
coming. Although she was not sure what would be worse than this. 

So Daphene did not kick. She meekly spread her legs as he pushed her back to 
the table top and held still as he bound her on her back to the leather 
padded table. Those rings around the edge of the table were very handy for 
tying a girl down. In a minute he had ropes from the sides going up and over 
her body, pushing it down and preventing her from even turning over. One 
ankle was grabbed and pulled far to the side where it was tied to a ring on 
the side. The other was quickly secured to the other side of the table. 
Daphene was tied down, there could be no doubt of that. She was laying on 
her bound arms, unable to roll over, unable to close her spread legs. Bill 
was standing directly between those legs, enjoying the clear view of her 
most private place in all its details. 

"Very nice," he commented but seemed more interested on removing his 
clothing than talking. Soon he was naked and climbing up onto the table, 
erect penis pointing straight at Daphene's love tunnel like a homing 
missile. She closed her eyes and wished she were someplace else. 

From the first thrust Daphene's body betrayed her. The love tunnel was 
already wet with secretions, telling both of them that she had been turned 
on by the tight bound and prospect of rape. And, though she tried to 
suppress the growing lust in her loins, she could not and was soon panting 
through her nose and thrusting back at his hips with her own. The ropes and 
his weight on her combined to make movement by the bound girl nearly 
impossible but try her muscles and body did. In less than two minutes both 
people hit very intense orgasms. In five minutes Bill had climbed down and 
his part was over. He had a very satisfied look on his face, Daphene did not 
feel satisfied. The orgasm had been intense, not the best she had ever felt 
but not the worse either. But this was pleasure from a man she did not love. 
There was something distasteful and dirty about it. 

After cleaning himself and dressing, Bill untied his latest conquest from 
the table, freeing her arms from their deeply indented cords, and removing 
the gag. Unprotesting, she allowed her wrists to be crossed and bound behind 
her back, a position she was very used to from the many long days she had 
spent in Greg's house alone. Again he sat her on the edge of the table, this 
time to cross her ankles and bind her legs so that she couldn't bring her 
legs together. She did not care. When he opened the door to the tiny cage, 
she didn't say a word. He placed the bound girl inside a cage that was only 
about three feet by three feet and perhaps two feet high. The door was 
locked shut with a large padlock and Daphene knew herself doubly a prisoner. 
The cage was hoisted up near the ceiling and left to gently sway there. 

Bill left without a word. On the way out he turned off the lights, leaving 
Daphene in total darkness. For a little while she listened to the sighing of 
the fans that brought fresh air into her prison. Then she cried herself to 
sleep as she lay on her side with legs drawn up in that tiny cage. 

The electric light dawn was sudden and brought Daphene back to an awareness 
that she was not in Greg's soft bed. Her body was stiff and ached from the 
awkward position enforced by the small cage. When Bill opened the door, she 
could hardly move and had to be picked up and taken out. He untied her legs, 
inspected her wrists, and, apparently satisfied, offered her breakfast. He 
placed the plate with the good smelling bacon and eggs on the table, along 
with a saucer of hot coffee. Then he made her kneel beside them and eat and 
drink by bending over to bring her mouth to the food. It was humiliating and 
degrading to be forced to eat like a dog, but Daphene was hungry. Better to 
be humiliated than go hungry, she told herself. 

"Did you sleep well?" Daphene glared at smiling man. "You know I didn't. 

That cage is terrible. A girl can't get comfortable in it. And with my 
wrists and ankles tied, I couldn't find a way that didn't hurt something." 

"That's what it is suppose to do. It's a punishment cage." 

"Go to hell with your punishment cage," she retorted without heat. 

"My, my, got up on the wrong side of the bed, did we?" Bill chuckled at his 
little joke. "Could have been worse. I could have left you bound to the 
table. Dare say your arms would be in pretty bad shape if you laid on them 
all night. Don't you agree?" 

Daphene said nothing. She agreed, things could have been worse than the cage 
but she wasn't going to sat that out loud. 

When breakfast was finished, she tried again for her freedom. "Now that 
you've raped me," she said without trying to sound angry, "are you going to 
take me back to Greg?" 

"I bought you for the entire weekend. This is only Saturday morning. 
Wouldn't get my money's worth if I took you back now, would I?" 

"I guess not." Daphene had not really expected freedom this quick. Any man 
who would have sex with a woman against her will would certainly not release 
her just because she asked for it. "So, what's the plan for today. Greg 
leaves me naked and tied up around the house while he goes to his office. 
Usually with my hands crossed and tied like you have me," she said 
hopefully. "But sometimes I'm just handcuffed and leg-ironed. You have 
handcuffs and leg irons?" She hoped to channel his interests into something 
more comfortable. 

"I do. But I'm not going to use them on you right now. I think a visit to 
the little slavegirl's room first, and then I think I'll do as you say. 
Leave you tied up for the rest of the morning." 

Daphene's spirit rose a little. It might not be so hard after all, if his 
man simply left her tied up as Greg had done almost every day. 

But she was not to be tied the way Greg usually left her. After a wonderful 
few minutes in a bath and cleaning herself up, Daphene was again taken to 
the bondage table. Wrists bound behind the back and nothing else was too 
simple for Bill. He left her wrists crossed behind her but put her on her 
back on the table. Then he bound her ankles together with the ankles 
crossed, the same as had been done the night before. Having her wrists 
crossed behind her back was a lot more comfortable than laying on arms with 
elbows tied together. Her elbows spread wide to allow her to rest mostly on 
back, not arms. Bill looped a rope around her upper arm just above the elbow 
and tied that to the side of the table. The same thing on the other side 
meant that Daphene would not be rolling over or getting up. But that was 
still too simple a bondage for this man. He took her legs and bend them up 
and over Daphene's body until her feet were only a few inches from her face. 
He tied rope from her ankles to the sides of the table and to rings at the 
end so that her legs were held in that position. Then he tied ropes from the 
sides up and over her legs, pulling them tight so that her legs were 
squashed against her chest. Then he went back and tightened down those ropes 
on her ankles. Daphene found herself in a bondage position she had never 
before experienced -flat on her back, arms under her, legs together and 
tightly pressed down against her chest. She could not move, and escape was 
impossible. 

Bill stepped back and examined his creation with pride. "That will keep you 
in one place for a while," he understated. "You'll be okay for half an hour 
or so but then it will get more and more uncomfortable. By the time I come 
back at noon, you'll be begging me to free you. Do you doubt that?" 

"I don't doubt that. It's uncomfortable now. Why do you have to leave me 
like this?" 

"Because I like it. While you're laying there, enjoying the tight ropes and 
discomfort, think about this: your bottom is raised and sticking out nicely. 
Even your little slit is available for anything I might want to do to it." 
He illustrated his remarks by teasing her pussy with a finger. "Or put in 
it." 

"Oh, please, not that again. I don't want to be raped." 

"Now we've been over that already. You would be delighted if it were Greg 
who tied you down like I did last night and then screwed you. You know you 
would have loved it. And you did get satisfaction last night, I know you 
did." 

Daphene was silent. She had reached orgasm but she hadn't gotten the 
satisfaction out of the sexual act that she should have. 

"Well, got to go. I'll be back at noon. Probably shouldn't tell you when I'm 
coming back but you've no way to tell time down here and the hours will 
stretch out horribly even if you know when I'm coming back." 

Bill patted her fanny none too gently and departed. Again he turned of the 
lights as he closed the door, leaving Daphene in total darkness. She called 
out but he was gone and she was again alone in tight restrictions that hurt 
her body. 

At first Daphene fought the ropes, trying with all her strength to work some 
loops off her, to find a knot she could loosen, or to even break one of 
those strands holding her body down. But all her efforts were useless, just 
as she knew they would be. Daphene had been tied up too many times to not 
know good bondage when she was in it. All the ropes were tight, cinched 
down, and knotted firmly far from her fingers or teeth. This man knew what 
he was doing. 

After her futile escape efforts, Daphene settled down for a long wait in the 
darkness and for a long time she thought about the things Greg had done to 
her. Those terrible, yet wonderful lovemaking sessions after his whip had 
kissed her bottom. And the long days spent with wrists bound behind her back 
or handcuffed, each day spent in anxious anticipation of his return and the 
lovemaking that was sure to follow. Somehow her being naked and bound up all 
day long keep both of them in a high state of sexual arousal. And she loved 
it. 

But her thoughts keep returning to the prior night and the way Greg had 
deliberately sold her to the highest bidder, like she was nothing more than 
a plaything. She was no better than his sports car, which he might casually 
hand the keys of to a friend and tell him to take her for a spin. That's 
what had happened. Greg didn't really need the money, the auction was just a 
way to make sure she would be taken by a man who understood diese things and 
really wanted her. And who could keep her totally restrained and helpless 
all weekend until it was time to returned the body to Greg. She wondered how 
Greg had felt last night, alone in his bed, knowing that she was in another 
man's house being screwed by him. Being fucked, to use the crude word most 
men used. Did that give Greg a sense of excitement? She hoped he had felt 
remorse and was sorry that he had every brought up the idea of selling her. 
But she didn't think Greg would be sorry. He enjoyed tiiese games too much, 
even if Daphene didn't. 

But her thoughts also keep returning to the way she was bound. The tight 
ropes and uncomfortable position saw to it that she could not forget that 
she was naked and tied. What a strange way to be tied, she told herself. 
Greg had never done anything like this. It was uncomfortable and yet ... 
There was something deliciously different about the helpless feeling it 
created in her. Her body constantly wanted to unfold, to get her legs back 
under her where they belonged. And she had to admit to herself that being 
tied this way made her feel wonderfully helpless. If Greg had tied her and 
she knew he was going to screw her when he came back, she could really give 
in to the helpless feeling and get all horny and excited. The way she 
usually did when he left her tightly bound for any length of time. But this 
time it was not Greg who was coming back to her, it was a stranger who had 
already once impaled her sex with his unwanted weapon. And having done it 
once, there would be nothing to stop him from doing it again. 

Daphene sighed and felt just how exposed her bottom and sex were. With her 
legs bent back over her, her rear was indeed pushed up and sticking right 
out. For a while Daphene was torn between a strange desire to feel what it 
would be like to be screwed while tied like this and distaste at the idea of 
the male doing the screwing not being Greg. Even more than the fact that it 
was not Greg, was the fact that Greg had wanted this to happen. Daphene 
grimaced in the dark. That was what hurt her the most. It had been her love 
Greg who had wanted just this to happen, for her to be raped by a man 
totally against her will. And who had set the wheels in motion to assure 
that this would happen. She wondered if Greg was enjoying himself. 

After what she was sure had to be six or seven hours, Daphene began moaning. 
The bend over position was taking its toll on the nude girl and muscles were 
aching in many parts of her body. A muscle in the back of her leg was 
trembling from the strain, and hips hurt. 

After what seemed to be at least eight hours, Daphene was crying softly in 
the dark, with many muscles aching. Her fingers clawed at the leather 
padding under her but it was a useless gesture. 

Daphene was sure that it must be sometime late at night and that she had 
been bound there for over ten hours. Something happened to Bill, she told 
herself, and he's never coming back. Perhaps a car accident, or a heart 
attack. Either way, he's dead or laying unconscious in a hospital somewhere 
and she's going to remain in this horrible bondage forever. She was sure 
that he hadn't told anyone else about this naked prisoner in his underground 
dungeon. For a few seconds hope flared as she remembered that Greg knew 
where she was. But then it died as she realized that he probably didn't know 
where this dungeon was. Even if he visited Bill's house, he would find only 
an empty house or a few servants, but no one and nothing to tell him where 
his lover lay enduring a terrible ordeal. And where she was going to 
eventually die, still a prisoner to the tight ropes and padded table. 
Daphene tried to remember how long a person could stay alive without food or 
water. The water was the problem, she remembered. A person could last many, 
many days without food. But only three days without water. She would get 
thirstier and thirstier, and weaker and weaker, until one day she would 
escape her bonds for that great unknown beyond this world. Perhaps some day 
a new buyer of this house would tear down the door to find out what was 
behind it, only to discover this hidden torture chamber with its dried up 
body that had once been a beautiful woman. 

Suddenly the light came on and Bill was standing there. 

"Water," croaked Daphene. Bill laughed. "Girls sometimes let their 
imaginations run away with them," he commented in an amused tone. "I've had 
girls who were left down here and thought that they had been alone for days. 
It's only been four hours. How long did you think it was?" 

"About three hours," lied Daphene. "Right. Hurting?" 

"All over." 

"Good. A punished girl should be hurting." 

"Why am I being punished?" she asked reasonably. "Because you're a girl." 
Daphene had no answer for that one. 

She was a girl. 

And it seemed like she was being punished all the time during the last six 
months. Perhaps he was right. 

"Please untie me." 

"Not until I'm finished with you." 

"Are you going to rape me again?" 

"Such a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as making love to you." 

"It's rape." 

"Lovemaking." 

"Rape." 

"Didn't you like it last night?" 

"Rape and ravishment." 

"I liked it." 

"And torture." Bill sighed as a man faced with massive illogic. "Okay, I'm 
going to rape you." 

Daphene wasn't sure she had won anything even though he had given in to her 
definition. 

"But only after I whip you." Daphene's heart skipped a beat. "Oh, please, 
isn't rape enough? You don't have to whip me. Believe me, I'm in enough 
pain, I don't need any more. Look, I'll moan for you. I really hurt." 

"I know you do. But that upturned bottom just cries out for the crop." 

"Oh, no! Please, not the crop. That thing will hit my.. My pussy. It will 
hurt terribly." 

"Well, I'll admit your pussy is certainly in the target area. And it might 
get hit. Sort of like an innocent bystander getting caught in the cross 
fire, eh?" 

"Please don't." Her plea carried no conviction. She knew what was going to 
happen and that she couldn't prevent it. 

Bill selected a riding crop from the wall collection and showed it to 
Daphene. "Too black. You can't possibly use that on me." 

"Too black? Well, let's see...." He selected a very wicked looking 
cat-o-nine-tails in a dark brown shade and showed it to her. 

"Maybe basic black isn't so bad. Could I see the riding crop again?" A 
perverse part of her mind made her joke at a time when fear was making her 
tense. Or perhaps it was simply her way of coping with that fear. 

"No. This is a very good instrument for covering a large area such as we 
have presented here." He swished it through the air a couple of times. "Very 
nice. This will wake up your ass." 

"It's awake!" Her jest was cut short by a swish and fire exploding in her 
bottom. "Ouch!" 

"Effective, isn't it?" He walked around the table and slashed her bottom 
from the other side. Daphene gasped and gritted her teeth. 

For the next few minutes Bill alternated sides to give Daphene's bottom full 
coverage. She swore she could feel each of the nine little thongs striking 
her taunt flesh. This position was very good for the whipping of a girl's 
bottom. Not only was the target well presented, it was stretched taunt to 
make each impact feel twice as bad. Sometimes one of the tongs did find its 
way to her pussy, and those hurt worst of all. It was much like the small 
whip Greg had used on her pussy and breasts. 

The naked girl was crying when Bill finally laid down the whip and discarded 
his clothing to enable him to invade this girl's private flesh. He did it as 
soon as he climbed on the table, driving his shaft very deep with the first 
thrust. With each new thrust he drove his hips against her tortured flesh so 
that it screamed pain to Daphene's brain. But the invaded cunt screamed its 
own message and that message was one of built up passion that had been 
smoldering all morning within the loins of a girl cruelly bound to a table. 

Again it was only a couple of minutes before both man and woman exploded 
into orgasm, the woman beating the man by maybe five seconds this time. They 
both shuddered as he clung to her body, using the ropes over her legs as 
handles to drive himself as deeply into her as he possible could when the 
fitting climax finally came. 

Daphene came down from cloud nine to find that she was still bound with legs 
bent over her. The muscles still ached although she hardly noticed them in 
the warm afterglow of sex. Bill was just finishing getting dressed. 

"Untie me now?" she asked meekly. "Later. Have a nice afternoon." He was 
leaving as she hurled curses at him. It was all the naked woman could do. 
She wished she could have racked her fingernails across his face. He had 
promised to untie her at noon. Now he's had his noon fuck and she's left 
with a long afternoon in darkness and pain. She cried. 

It was a very stiff and sore girl who was untied from the table. The time 
was just before dinner but to Daphene it was an eternity since she had first 
been bound to that table. She hobbled on unsteady legs to the bathroom and 
tried to repeat the damage to aching muscles with a warm bath. Bill allowed 
her that, perhaps to make up a little for the harsh treatment of the day. 

When she was clean and feeling better, he bound her wrists behind her back 
again, but this time using a pair of black colored handcuffs. They were 
light in weight and certainly different from the silvery ones she was used 
to Greg putting on her wrists. But she was glad to get the ropes off her and 
did not protest, even when he locked a second pair on her ankles to function 
as leg irons. And they did. When she tried to stand, she found that the 
tight handcuffs cut into the tendons at the back of her foot, almost making 
it too painful to stand. And the handcuffs single link was so short that she 
had to shuffle instead of taking real steps. 

But it was better than being tied with your legs bent back over your body. 

Dinner was served in the dungeon and Daphene ale eagerly, having had only a 
screwing for lunch. The food was excellent and for the meal her captor had 
switched her hands from back to front so she could feed herself. After the 
meal, Bill seemed content to just sit there. Not wanting to rush him into 
yet another uncomfortable position, Daphene tried to keep a conversation 
going. 

"Have you had many girls down in this dungeon?" 

"A few. I have three girls I often invite over. Well, actually they're 
prostitutes who specialize in this type of treatment. They get paid well for 
a night in my little dungeon. Very well. Of course they earn it." 

"Of course." 

"And there's been a couple of girls who weren't paid. 

They were young things looking for a rich man they could marry and 
eventually take away all his money. But they found, after considerable time 
spent in my dungeon, that my wife and I are very happy with our arrangement 
and I have no wish to divorce her and marry some sexy young thing. 
Eventually they flee to safer and gentler waters where the fishing for a 
rich man is easier." 

"Did any of those girl actually like being treated like this?" Daphene was 
thinking of how she actually like being treated this way. All except being 
raped, of course. 

"One or two did like it. But some just put up with it. I was well aware of 
that. Isn't hard to read the mind of a gold-digger. When I sensed a girl was 
getting near the point where she would run to seek other men, I would give 
her a full week in the dungeon. An intensified course in bondage and pain, 
as it were. Then I'd give them a considerable sum of money and send them on 
their way. 

"Actually," he confided, "it's easier with prostitutes. Much easier for 
everyone to know what their job is." 

"Haven't you ever found a girl who likes this?" Daphene persisted. 

"No. Oh, I know there are some. I suspect you are one. And I've seen girls 
who enjoy the ropes and even the whips. But never ran across one for me. But 
I'm content to pay for the services of a professional." 

Daphene thought that perhaps Greg was a very lucky man after all. "Are there 
many people who like treating a girl like this?" she asked. 

"I suspect all men would like to if they had the balls to. And there is a 
group of woman who would treat you the same or rougher. But very few men 
ever get the chance to let go their desires and really do what they want. I 
mean what they really want, deep inside. Any man who tells you he wouldn't 
like to tie a girl up and whip her bottom is lying." 

Daphene was getting interested. She had vaguely suspected that other men 
enjoyed doing to girls what Greg did to her but had never really thought 
much about it. She had been too busy having fun with Greg. "Have you 
actually seen other girls who like this? Couples who play like this?" 

For a few second Bill just looked at her and she was certain he wouldn't 
reply. But he did. "There are couples. There are single girls. And there are 
lots of men who wish they had a girl to play with." He paused for a moment 
before adding, "And there's the Club. 

"The club?" 

"People with a lot of money can buy and sell playthings that are different 
from what the average people do." 

Daphene had trouble getting out the next words. "Like slavegirls?" 

"Yes. For a price a man can buy anything. Even a young girls that he can 
keep as a slave. I thought about doing it but I like variety too much. And 
this dungeon is hardly the place to keep a slavegirl full time. No sunlight, 
too small. She would go crazy." 

"A place where slavegirls are sold?" 

"You find that hard to believe? I did at first but I've seen it done. I've 
seen auctions much like the one Greg set up to sell you. Only there was a 
big stage and more than one girl. And the men were all hidden in shadows or 
by agents. And," he emphasized, "the girls were being sold into a lifetime 
of slavery, not for a weekend." 

"But girls actually being sold?" 

"Little hard for you to grasp, isn't it? Believe me, it happens. Right here 
in the good old USA. Of course, in other countries slavery, at least for 
females, has been a way of life and always will be." 

Daphene shook her head. "But aren't there people who do this because they 
like it? I mean, Greg and I were ... Well, we were playing games where I got 
tied up or chained all day for months. It was almost like being a slavegirl 
and I liked it. Until he gave me to another man to be ... Fucked is the word 
you men like, isn't it?" 

"Some men. I don't. And he didn't give you away. I paid good money." . 

"The money doesn't change things. He could have given me away and it is 
still something I can't stand." 

"Rape, I believe you called it? Well, dear, into each life a little shit 
must fall. And talking about some shit happening, are you ready?" 

"Ready for what? As if I didn't know." 

"Your evening torture and rape." He smiled. "You had a rough day, I'll go 
easy on you tonight." 

"You could go easy on me by taking me home." 

"Hush now. Mustn't get your new master all upset. He might do something 
you'll regret." 

"Going easy on her" meant that Daphene was simply tied spread eagle on the 
very useful bondage table, arms and legs spread wide apart, and then tickled 
with a feather for a very, very long half hour. By the end of that time, 
Daphene was in tears from so much laughing and Bill wasn't in much better 
shape. But he managed to shed his clothes and crawl on top of her to ride 
her to her third orgasm in twenty-four hours. Not that three in a day was 
much for her. She and Greg were young and healthy, and more than a little 
oversexed, and had often reached four couplings in a day. 

Before leaving her for the night, Bill changed her bondage. This time her 
hands were crossed and bound behind her back but her legs were left alone. 
The tiny cage was lowered to the floor and the naked woman was helped 
through the door. As he was locking the door, Daphene asked innocently, "How 
do people who want to play these games get together? I mean, besides those 
who simply buy a slavegirl?" 

Bill smiled. "Try Dragon's Lair," he said. "If you can find it." Then the 
cage door was solidly locked and she was hoisted up to her position near the 
ceiling. Finding a comfortable position was a little easier than the night 
before, but not much. 

And the hard floor and bars of the cage were not the things Daphene would 
have liked to have to sleep on. 

But she quickly fell asleep after the lights went out and her cage slowed 
down to stay still. It had been a hard day and she was quickly in a 
soundless sleep. 

 CHAPTER FIVE - Girl Bound in a Chair 

The light woke her suddenly. Daphene tried to sit up but banged her head 
against a metal ceiling only a foot above her. Then she remembered where she 
was. She was in a tiny cage suspended near the ceiling of a dungeon 
belonging to a man who had bought her. And she was still naked and her hands 
were still crossed behind her back and tied tightly. Nothing much had 
changed. 

"Hello, pretty," came Bill's cheery voice. The cage lowered at the touch of 
his finger on a button. "Got breakfast for you. Did you sleep soundly?" 

"Surprisingly, yes," Daphene replied, wondering why she didn't snap at him. 
Or repeat her plea for release. Her body was sore and stiff from sleeping 
all night in a cage too small to stretch out in. And sleeping with your 
hands tied behind your back takes talent. But the coffee smelled so very 
good, as did the flapjacks and bacon. She allowed herself to be assisted 
from the cage, standing on unsteady legs. "What's on the agenda today," she 
asked sarcastically as soon as she could stand by herself. "More torture 
followed by another rape?" 

"You just can't get this rape business out of your mind, can you?" 

"Isn't that what it is? Rape?" 

"Technically, yes. But you were sold to me. Don't I get something for all 
that money I paid?" 

Daphene was silent. There was a kind of logic to Bill's statement. He had 
paid a great deal of money to rent her for the weekend. And Greg had 
promised that her body was his to use as he wished. That included doing the 
most natural thing between a man and a woman. 

"I still don't like it," she said grumpily. "Well, have some breakfast and 
you'll feel better. 

And remember, you're going home today." 

Daphene brightened up. Bill untied her hands and let her flew to the 
adjoining bathroom with only her hands cuffed before her. She quickly fixed 
herself up and washed for breakfast. When she returned, she set to the food 
without another word. Bill watched amused as she easily handled the knife 
and fork with handcuffed wrists. "You have had a lot of practice, I can 
tell," he commented. "One would hardly notice that you are restrained." 

Daphene grunted acknowledgment and continued on to the cinnamon roll. When 
she finished, she wiped her face, sat back gratefully, and looked her captor 
squarely in the eye. "What now?" she asked as if daring him to come up with 
something that would shock her. 

"Nothing much. I'll just leave you for the morning in a little bondage, then 
we'll see about a little noon intercourse." Daphene sniffed but didn't 
interject the word "rape" to correct his word for that act. "And perhaps a 
little more bondage during the afternoon. Or maybe I'll whip you a bit. Your 
bottom wasn't really harmed from that cat-o-nine-tails yesterday." 

Daphene, who was sitting on that "unharmed" bottom disagreed. It was still 
sore and more than a little tender to sit on. 

"Well, go ahead. Do your worst and let's get it over with." 

Without a word Bill motioned for her to rise her feet up to where he could 
reach them. A pair of handcuffs were produced to lock on both ankles, firmly 
linking her feet and preventing escape. Then he took the cuffs from off her 
wrists and put them away. He was taking his time and carefully choice the 
ropes he would use. 

"How do you want me?" asked Daphene, having decided that it would be useless 
to fight this man, not with her ankles shackled and his superior strength. 
Besides, she wondered if he would come up with another bondage position to 
match that terrible one from yesterday. Had that position with her on her 
back and legs doubled over on top of her been tied by Greg, and had it been 
his hand holding the whip that scolded her bottom and pussy, and mostly had 
it been his rod that impaled her sex afterwards, Daphene would have found it 
an interesting and exciting experience. Maybe, she thought, she could tell 
Greg about it so that he could try it some day. Then she added that she was 
really crazy to be thinking that way. 

"Put your arms behind that chair's back," said Bill while holding some nylon 
rope in his hands. It was about the thickness of clothesline and looked very 
strong. 

Daphene looked down and realized that she was sitting in a chair that hadn't 
been in the dungeon before. With a sigh she settled back against the chair 
and put her arms over the back. The top of the back came to just under her 
arms so that wasn't too hard. It was a simple tubular metal kitchen chair, 
stout enough to hold a naked and bound girl. Bill placed her wrists 
together, palm to palm, and wrapped rope around them. 

"Please don't tie me too tight. Yesterday was horrible," Daphene said 
evenly. "Painfully horrible." 

Bill said nothing and Daphene wondered if her request had been noted or 
ignored. The rope around her wrists was cinched down with some windings 
going the other way then knotted. She could feel the end of the rope hanging 
down to the floor and knew something else would be happening to it sooner or 
later. Then he came around to the front and began tying her legs together. 
Again the thought flashed through her head that perhaps she should kick him 
as hard as possible when he removed the handcuffs, then run. But the 
handcuffs came off and rope was going around her ankles and Daphene had done 
nothing. She sighed inwardly and cursed herself for being a coward. But it 
was just that she didn't think she could get away with it. Even if she 
incapacitated him for a few minutes, where would she go? Her hands were tied 
behind her and she was naked. And she didn't know which was safety was. She 
had been in the trunk when brought to his house and didn't even know what 
the place looked like. Besides, she wasn't sure she could do much harm with 
a bare foot. If she only hurt him a little, there would be punishment for 
the injury. Punishment a lot worse than what was going to happen to her, she 
was sure. So she sat there and watched as his expert hands wound rope around 
her ankles, around her legs above the knees, and cinched both tightly down. 
He did neat work. And secure. 

He went to the back of the chair and she felt her elbows being pulled 
together and rope going around them. "Please don't," she asked. "That is a 
painful way to be tied." 

"Isn't it?" 

"You're terrible!" But her insult had little sting behind it and was 
ignored. The ropes forced her elbows tight together and were cinched down. 
Daphene noticed what that did to her breasts and sighed. They were really 
sticking out and she feared that they constituted an invitation to pain for 
them. 

The rope hanging from her wrists was brought under the chair and went around 
the rope on her ankles, then back up to her wrists. He pulled and her feet 
went under the chair. Under and then back up towards her hands. Soon he had 
pulled as tightly as her body could take and then he passed the rope up to 
that around her elbows and tied several quite tight knots. Daphene winced at 
how tightly her legs were pulled under the chair, but that rope also pulled 
down on her arms, keeping her whole body under constant strain. 

"This isn't comfortable," she informed. "I know that. It is a punishment," 
came the reply. 

"And it's not done yet." 

The chair back had an opening between the seat and the padded part of the 
back. Through that opening Bill passed rope to loop it around her tummy and 
arms. When that was pulled tight, it cut deeply into her stomach at its 
narrowest part. 

Several times he looped the rope around both tummy and arms. Finally he 
cinched the ropes down and tied two very tight knots, but only after taking 
the end of the rope up to her elbow bondage. Daphene was experienced enough 
to know that she would not be freeing herself from this bondage. There was 
no way she could reach the knots at her elbows, even if her hands had not 
been bound to her feet or her arms lashed to her tummy. 

"Wiggle," came an order. Daphene complied, twisting her body as much as she 
could, tugging at her arms, and, in general, showing him how little she 
could move. The main movement allowed was to shift her knees from side to 
side a tiny bit, and move her head. She tried not to shake her breasts so as 
to not draw attention to them. She cursed her body as a traitor when she saw 
how rigid her nipples were, and hoped that Bill did not notice. So used to 
Greg's binding of her was she that any binding of her body started the 
juices flowing and a smoldering fire in her loins. She hoped her erect 
nipples wouldn't give him any ideas about attaching something to them. 
Clamping clothespins or metal clips on a defenseless girl's nipples was a 
favorite trick of tortures, she knew. And her nipples were so large and 
ready for anything that it scared her. 

"I think that you'll still be sitting here when I return," he, commented. 
"The ropes look tight enough and secure." 

"They are," she agreed. "You tie good." Wouldn't hurt to flatter him. And 
she just realized that tied in the chair the way she was, she couldn't be 
raped. That made her feel much better about the ordeal she would be going 
through this morning. 

"You won't like what comes next." Daphene guessed and came up with two 
answered but she did not say either. About the only thing that could be 
added to her bondage was something clamped on her nipples or something in 
her mouth. 

"A gag," Bill informed as he brought something into her vision. Daphene 
gulped when she saw the rubber monster. "You wouldn't use that ... Not 
that!" 

"Yes, that! Now open your mouth. Just pretend it's a lover." 

The gag was made from a large rubber dildo, a replica of the human phallus, 
very detailed and looking larger than Daphene thought her mouth could 
possibly be. He placed the head of the fake penis to her lips but she 
clamped them dght. It would be shameful to have that thing inside her mouth. 
Shameful and degrading. 

"I can pinch your nipple until you open your mouth," she was calmly told. 
With a whine of frustration, Daphene opened her lips and felt the rounded 
head touch her tongue. She had to keep telling herself that there were far 
worse things that could be happening to her as the rubber penis slide slowly 
into her mouth, pushing her tongue down and filling her completely. When it 
stopped she could feel it pressing against the back of her mouth. Another 
quarter inch and she would be gagging. 

Bill buckled the strap around her head, making sure it was very tight and 
there was no way she could push it out. Then he took her head in both hands 
and looked directly into her eyes. "That will be a constant reminder of what 
will be happening to your pussy when I come back at noon," he told her. Then 
he kissed her gently on the forehead and walked around behind her back. 
Daphene whined in protest at the shame and discomfort of the rubber monster 
in her mouth. But she was not yet totally prepared for the morning's ordeal. 
There was a ring in the buckle at the back of her head. Bill tied a short 
length of rope to that ring and down to her elbows. Then he put one hand 
under her chin and forced her head backward until she was staring almost 
straight up at the ceiling. Then he tied the ropes and stood back. Daphene 
cried out and tried to tell him how it would be impossible for her to endure 
this horrible position all morning but no words came out, only pathetic 
whines that were ignored. 

Bill lightly ran his fingertips over the mounds of her breasts, forced to 
stand straight out by the strain of her bondage. "Yes," he told her. "I'm 
considering whether to attach something to these lovely nipples." Daphene 
whined loudly through her nose. "Something painful." He let the last words 
hang in the air, a threat that made Daphene's stomach tie itself into knots 
with fear. 

"But you're being punished enough," he concluded suddenly and walked out. 

This time he left the light on and Daphene, when she later thought about it, 
was grateful. Spending all yesterday and all of two nights in complete 
darkness was hard on a girl. 

For a minute she whined in frustration then fought to keep from crying. She 
didn't want to have to spend the entire morning with her head pulled way 
back by that hateful gag. She could fell the horrible thing pressing against 
the back of her mouth and wanted to scream. Then she began methodically 
testing all parts of her bondage, trying to loosen ropes, reach knots, and 
shake anything that might come loose. Nothing loosened. Nothing could be 
reached. Daphene was helpless. And very uncomfortable. Her shoulders and 
arms hurt, and the ropes cutting into her stomach weren't too pleasant, 
either. She found that the only movement allowed her was to shake her head 
from side to side and slide her knees a little bit to the left or right. The 
rest of her was completely held by the tight ropes. 

It was a long morning. Many thoughts flitted through her mind as she sat 
there, staring at a featureless ceiling, and hurting. She was glad that at 
the end of that day she would be returned to Greg. She was frightened of the 
promised coming rape. It had happened to her twice already but she still 
didn't want it. Sex was wonderful with the man you love but something else 
when forced upon you by a stranger. It didn't help that her body reacted to 
the sexual stimulation and came to orgasm even with her telling it not to. 

And she wondered what she would say to Greg when she again saw him. Ideas of 
scolding him were entertained, only to be dropped. She considered telling 
him that it was terrible and she would leave him if he ever did that again. 
But through it all, she kept telling herself that he had only been playing a 
fantasy game, that he didn't really think ahead enough to know how 
unpleasant it would be for her to actually have sexual intercourse performed 
on her by a stranger. He was a man, and a man couldn't know how terrible 
that was for a girl. She would tell him and he would feel bad for having 
forced her into it. Then they would go to bed and she would have sex with 
the man she wanted to have it with. 

While dreaming about Greg entering her as she lay on his bed with her neck 
collared and chained to the wall, a symbol of his ownership of her, she 
realized that she was squeezing her thighs together and clenching her 
buttocks. Without realizing it, she had begun working up towards a climax. 
The bondage had turned her on, as it always did. Even bondage this extreme 
was exciting to her. It was her weakness. Then there was her thoughts and 
visions of Greg, his powerful body naked against hers, his shaft deeply 
thrust into her pussy to bring pleasure to both of them. That would turn any 
girl on. And, a little nagging part of her mind told her, there was that 
fake male penis filling her mouth. She had never performed oral sex on a man 
and it was strange to have her mouth filled with a replica of the male 
member. Strange and sort of exciting. And distasteful. She told herself that 
she hated it and would gladly pushed the damned thing out if she only could. 

But whether it was the thoughts of Greg, the bondage, or even the penis gag 
that did it, Daphene was well on her way to a climax. Or maybe it was all 
three. She didn't know or care at that point. Instead she released conscious 
thought and let her body take over. Her thighs clenched and her hips thrust 
against the chair and the ropes the little they could, and she fought the 
ropes. This time it was not an organized, systematic, logical escape 
attempt, it was the wild jerking and straining of an emotional rebellion 
against the restraints. It got her no closer to freedom than the logical 
efforts, but it did its job in another way. With a muffled cry she arched 
her body the few inches allowed it and crashed headfirst into a very intense 
and satisfying orgasm. Repeatedly she moaned into the penis-like gag that 
filled her mouth, and tremors shook her naked and bound body. Wave after 
wave of pure pleasure raced through her body, setting nerves on fire. But 
the biggest fire was in her pussy. 

A long time later she came down from that sexual high and had to admit to 
herself that it was one of the best she had every felt. Some of those times 
with Greg had been at least as good, especially those intense one's that 
came right after he had whipped her bottom and breasts and pussy. Those had 
been pretty good. But this one was good too. Just different in some ways 
that she could not put her finger on. 

It was a long morning. When Bill returned, it was to find a moaning, very 
uncomfortable woman who wept tears of gratitude when the gag was taken from 
her mouth and the ropes removed from her legs and tummy. Her arms were left 
bound behind her with the elbows tight together but she didn't mind. She 
didn't even mind when he put her on her back on the padded table and mounted 
her for this third screwing of this slavegirl. He was surprised to find that 
her cunt was juicy and more than ready for his tool. It was a good 
performance on both of their parts, mutually satisfying and intense. Both 
gasp as their bodies exploded into bliss and went rigid against each other. 

Afterwards, Bill got off and Daphene rolled over on her side to get off her 
bound arms. Her body was still shivering with delight in the afterglow, but 
a tiny part of her mind was telling her that she had been raped for the 
third time and she never would like it. 

Eventually Bill dressed himself. With a sigh of joy he told her that she was 
a very good "lay," the best he had ever had. Daphene didn't now whether she 
liked the compliment or not. He stood her up but all she wanted to do was 
lay down and rest. Sitting bound the way she had in a chair all morning had 
been strenuous for her. Not to mention two orgasms taking a bit out of her. 
But rest was not to be her lot in life. Bill walked her over to the pillory 
in the corner of the room and lifted the yoke. There were holes for both 
neck and wrists but he pushed only her neck into the center hole. Arranging 
her hair carefully so as not to be caught in it, he closed the yoke and 
clicked shut the padlock that held it firmly closed at one end. 

He examined her hands and announced that there was no circulation problem so 
she could remain bound that way for the rest of the afternoon. As her fate 
sank into her tired mind, Daphene protested weakly, "Oh, please don't. My 
arms hurt. And it's uncomfortable with my head bend over like this. Oh, 
please at least put my wrists in the holes for them. Don't leave them tied." 

Her protests fell upon empty air where the man had been standing. Daphene 
heard the door close and knew she was now secured for what she thought of as 
the "afternoon torture session." Her legs were free but that did little good 
when her head was held rigidly in place. She found that the little bit she 
had to bend to accommodate the height of the pillory was enough to prevent 
her from standing comfortably. It wasn't too long before she wished she were 
again sitting down, even if it meant still being bound so tightly to the 
chair. 

Her arms and shoulders ached, mostly from the elbows-touching bondage, but 
soon muscles in her back were sounding alarm bells that they were not happy 
with the bent position. After an hour they were protesting painfully. After 
two hours the muscles in the backs of her thighs were trembling from the 
unusual strain. By the time Bill came to release her for dinner, Daphene was 
crying in anguish and pain. She practically collapsed in Bill's arms. He 
freed the ropes from her arms, having to pull the cords out of the flesh 
above her arms, so deeply indented were they. Then he allowed her to retreat 
to the bathroom and a reviving soak in warm, scented water. 

Later, when most of the pain was but a fading memory, Daphene came out, with 
beautifully done hair and a pink skinned, healthy glow to her nudity. There 
were only some red marks where the ropes had most severely dug into her 
skin. And red marks across her bottom where the cat-o-nine-tails had kissed 
her the night before. 

Dinner was served in served in the dungeon and Daphene was allowed to eat 
with only her ankles shackled by a pair of handcuffs. The food was good and 
Bill had brought a second tray for himself. 

"You really ought to get a pair of leg irons," Daphene offered between 
bites. "They work better than these handcuffs on a girl's ankles." 

"Perhaps. I did run into one girl who's ankles were too large for the 
handcuffs to fit around. She was six foot tall, but had a lovely, if 
muscular figure. Had to be careful with that one," he mused, "she could have 
probably bounced me off the walls if I hadn't keep her under some restraint 
at all times. But you're right, I'll see about getting some leg irons." 

Daphene chewed in silence for a few minutes before coming out with, "Are you 
going to do anything to me before you take me home? It is Sunday night, 
isn't it?" 

"About seven o'clock. I've been thinking about that. I could tie you down 
and give you another whipping." He paused to evaluate her reaction to that 
statement. "Or I could tie you down and make love to you again." He paused 
to see if Daphene would substitute her own word for the act. She did not. 
"Or I could simply tie you up and take you back." 

"Please," was all Daphene said. And in a quiet voice. "Or I could tie you so 
your head was rigid and force you to accept my penis in your mouth. That is 
a very nice feeling for a man, you know." 

Daphene said nothing but stopped eating. "You didn't like that penis gag, 
did you?" She shook her head. "Well, then that means you've never had a 
man's penis inside your mouth, either?" Another shake. 

"Oh, please, Bill. Master Bill. It's so degrading to have to take a man's 
penis in my mouth. It's terrible." 

"You," he said firmly, "haven't been properly trained. Oral sex can be very 
exciting and pleasurable for both the man and the woman. But you haven't 
done that either, have you?" 

"No one has ever performed oral sex on me," Daphene admitted quietly. "I've 
heard of such things but never tired it. I didn't know too many men before I 
met Greg. And he seems to like his sex straight. If you don't count having 
the girl tied or chained down. And having sex after whipping her bottom to 
pieces." 

"Girls?" 

"You mean lesbians? No. Never. Just isn't right." 

"You mean it isn't right for two girls to make love to each other, to make 
each other feel incredible pleasure. But it's okay for a man to make love to 
his girl after having whipped her bottom and breasts? And while she's 
chained down?" 

"Well ... That feels right. Well, I mean, sort of ... It's hard to put into 
words. But making love with another woman would be wrong. That's all." 

Bill silently stared at her for a few moments then raised one eyebrow and 
sighed. "Well someday you'll meet a woman who will introduce you to another 
whole world of sensations. Done with your meal?" 

"Yes. It was very good. Thank you." 

"You're welcome." Daphene looked at him in silence for a minute then got up 
and turned her back and crossed her hands. Bill uncrossed them and placed 
them palm to palm. Suddenly there was rope being wrapped around them and she 
knew he must have had some in his pocket. The wrists were knotted and be 
moved up to her elbows. He pulled her arms tight together and wrapped rope 
around them just as he had done that morning. Soon her elbows were locked 
together with cords and beginning to hurt already. 

He sat her on the padded table and unlocked the handcuffs on her ankles. For 
a moment he seemed to pause as if in doubt as what to do next. Daphene 
sighed and spread her legs apart. "Is that what you want?" she asked but 
without sarcasm. 

Bill pushed her legs back together and begin binding them with rope he 
fetched from the wall supply. "Maybe I'm not as young as I used to be. Ten 
years ago I would have fucked you morning, noon, AND night." 

"Thank you," she said, and meant it. She doubted that he was incapable of 
performing sexual intercourse on her again. Perhaps he was taking into 
account how much she hated it. She wasn't one of his prostitutes, she told 
herself. Nor was she a real slavegirl. She was a weekend rental and perhaps 
he cared a bit for her feelings. Daphene didn't know and didn't want to go 
into the subject any farther. It was enough that the torture and screwing 
had come to an end and she was being packaged for return home. 

Her legs were bound at the ankles and again above the knees. Then he rolled 
her onto her stomach and doubled her legs over. The ropes between her wrists 
and ankles would hold her in a hogtie and prevent any hope of escape. And 
she would stay in just enough pain from those tight ropes to keep her docile 
during the trip. But not enough to drive her into a screaming mental case. 

Without comment she accepted the rubber wad of Greg's gag back in her mouth. 
It was only proper, she supposed, that his gag be returned her him in the 
same place it had been taken from him. 

Once she was ready, Bill carried her out of the dungeon that had been her 
home for two days and deposited her gently in the trunk of his town car. The 
ride home was a little bumpy and the naked and bound girl in the darkness 
and heat of the trunk was shifted back and forth with each bounce. She 
composed several speeches in her mind, each designed to give Greg a piece of 
her mind for having done this to her. In the privacy of her trunk prison, 
Daphene did admit to herself that the weekend might have been exciting had 
it not been for the violation of her sex. Bill was a master with the ropes 
and she did find some of the way he had bound her exciting. It was much like 
the ways that Greg bound her but more restrictive. There was a great deal of 
difference between running around the house with your hands crossed and 
bound behind your back, and having to sit rigidly in a chair with your head 
pulled back so you stared at the ceiling. Yet ... There was something 
exciting about the stricter bondage too.... 

The motor finally died and a minute later the trunk lid was opened. The 
sight of Greg leaning over the trunk almost brought tears of happiness to 
the bound up girl. The lifted her out of the car and carried her into the 
house where she was set down on a sofa in the front room. Then Greg and Bill 
went off to talk among themselves. Daphene had little doubt that she was the 
subject of the conversation. When Greg returned, he was alone. 

"I hear that you had dinner," he began, a mischievous smile tugging at the 
corners of his mouth. "And that you spent almost every minute tightly bound 
up." Daphene nodded. "And that you got one whipping." Again she nodded so he 
would know that her bottom had been marked up a little and was still a bit 
sore. "Well, I guess you know what it's like to be a slavegirl now." 

Daphene nodded slowly, reluctant to agree with Greg. She whined a little to 
tell him that she wanted to speak. But instead of removing the gag, he 
untied the rope connecting her ankles and wrists. Gratefully she unfolded to 
full length on the sofa. His fingers worked at the knots on her legs and 
soon she was able to stand up. But the ropes on her arms remained, as did 
the gag filling her mouth. 

Greg picked her up over his shoulder and carried her up to the bedroom where 
he tossed her on the bed. In a manner that strangely reminded her of Bill, 
he rolled her over onto her bound arms and spread her legs wide. Daphene 
held her legs wide open in invitation as Greg shed his clothes and mounted 
the bed. Their coupling was good but Daphene had wanted to have a talk with 
Greg before this bedroom performance, to get some things clear between them. 

Still, he was as virile as ever and her body responded as it always did, and 
they were both satisfied when done. But Greg apparently more than Daphene. 

Finally the gag came off, pulled from her mouth with a sucking sound. She 
worked her jaw to get the stiffness out before speaking. "That was 
terrible!" she began. "Oh, not the lovemaking just now, but what you did to 
me. You sold me to a strange man!" 

"That was my intent," he replied reasonably. "But he raped me! He actually 
used his ... His thing to ... To screw my pussy. He raped me!" 

"I told him to." Daphene's momentum skidded to a halt. "You told him to?" 

"Of course. One does not buy a slavegirl without knowing that he can use her 
for sex. I told him to go ahead and enjoy you. I gather he did." 

"He did. Oh, Greg, I don't like that. I don't want to be sold to men who 
will screw me like I'm some toy. I didn't mind being tied up so much...." 

"Glad you liked that," Greg interrupted. "Bill, I understand, is very good 
at it." 

"Yes, he is. But ... Well, you just didn't have the right to give me to 
another man like that." 

"I own you." The statement was all the more shocking for having been 
delivered quite matter-of-factly, not as a new announcement of importance. 

"You own me," repeated Daphene weakly. It was a new thought although she had 
thought it before that night. It was just that Greg meant it in a different 
way than Daphene thought of it To her the daily binding of her wrists, the 
play with the handcuffs out in restaurants, even showing her off nearly 
naked and chained to a room full of men, had been a game that they both were 
a part of. With suddenly clarity Daphene realized that she had always 
assumed that her captivity, her "ownership" by Greg, had been a game she had 
willing taken part in. And that she could willing discontinue if she so 
wanted. Greg was saying something different. 

"And you don't feel any remorse at having sold me for a weekend?" 

"Of course not! You had a good time. Bill had a good time. And I loved 
showing you off to all my friends. And when you realized your sale was for 
real -wow, you should have seen your face! It was beautiful. Remorse? Hell, 
no, it was fun!" 

Greg's boyish enthusiasm was not, for the first time, entrapping Daphene 
within its folds. "Would you sell me again?" 

"Of course. You're a slavegirl. And you make a damned nice one, if I do say 
so. Several of the boys called me to ask when I was going to auction you off 
again. They liked it." 

"Will they be allowed to screw me?" Daphene wished she could find a better 
word for the act. But "lovemaking" didn't fit what she was talking about, 
and "intercourse" sounded so academic. And she was not about to use "fuck," 
even if that was the word that described what happened to her best. 

"Of course. It wouldn't be real if that wasn't part of the game." 

"I see," she said and fell silent. "Come on girl, you loved it and you know 
you did." 

"Yes, I did," Daphene exclaimed, brightening up. "That Bill certainly knows 
how to tie a girl up." 

"Good. I knew you'd like it." He locked her usual collar around her neck 
then untied the ropes from her arms. The ropes coming out of her flesh hurt, 
but not as much as knowing that her lover would cheerfully give her to other 
men to be fucked. 

"I've been thinking," Greg began as Daphene massaged her wrists and elbows, 
"that we could try that escape bit again. You know, I tie you up in the 
morning and you have to escape by evening or get a punishment. I was 
thinking that tomorrow we could offer you a choice between hanging by your 
wrists with your legs doubled up, you remember that, or hanging upside down 
by your ankles. Of course, you would not have to hang upside down as long, 
that's a little harder on the body, but half an hour should be no problem. 
Maybe an hour. What do you think of that?" 

"Sounds fine with me," Daphene replied. She rolled on her side. A second 
later Greg cuddled up next to her and put on arm over her to cup a breast in 
his hand. He fell asleep like that. Daphene stayed awake for a long time, 
thinking. 

The next day she made her escape. 

 CHAPTER SIX - Escape! 

The scene as the usual at the door. Daphene was naked, standing there for 
Greg's good-bye kiss. Her wrists had been crossed and bound behind her back 
with dghtly wound cords and cleverly placed knots. Her ankles were free of 
the leg irons, something she had hoped very much for. As he gave her his 
usual loving kiss, Greg's free hand wandered down to her pussy where it 
massaged a bit, just enough to get her juices flowing. Then, with one hand 
on the door, he reminded her that she was to free herself from the ropes on 
her wrists by the time he arrived home, and be waiting with cocktails, or 
suffer a punishment of her choosing. Provided, of course, that her choosing 
ran to either hanging by her wrists with doubled up legs, or hanging upside 
down by her ankles. She smiled and said that she understood. Then he was 
gone. 

Daphene waited a while, just sitting on the sofa, waiting to make sure that 
Greg didn't return unexpectedly for something he had forgotten. After half 
an hour, she got u and made her way towards the kitchen. 

The only knives present there were butter knives, good for spreading butter 
but not much good for cutting tightly bound cords. She wasn't sure where he 
hid the steak knives but didn't bother looking for them. She moved with 
purpose towards her second target. 

For once Daphene was thankful that Greg was a little old-fashioned and still 
shaved with a razor rather than an electric shaver. His razor was laying on 
the sink in plain sight. With a heart beating fast, Daphene backed up to the 
sink and reached her fingers across the cold tiles towards the silvery 
handle. Once it was in her grip, she walked back into the bedroom to where 
she could see herself in the big mirror. Then she backup up to get the best 
view of her hands and carefully turned the end of the handle. The flat end 
opened up like space shuttle doors to reveal a shinning razor blade nestled 
within. With caution she turned the instrument over until the razor blade 
fell into her hand. She dropped the holder. Then, with extreme care, she 
took the blade between thumb and forefinger. It was not easy and she 
proceeded very slowly, pausing often to look closely at the position of her 
hands, the ropes and the sharp edge of the razor. It is never easy to reach 
back with bound hands to touch the ropes that bind them, not with a razor 
between your fingers. But Daphene did and carefully sawed at one of the 
windings with one corner of the razor. 

Her reward came a minute later when the cord parted. There, were now two 
strands of that rope hanging free. Daphene tugged a little but the ropes 
remained firm upon he wrists. She had expected that. The cord that she had 
cut was held down by the cinch windings. More would have to be cut before 
she could work all the ropes off. 

It was fifteen minutes of very slow work but finally her goal was reached. 
The cords suddenly loosened with the last cut and she was able to drop the 
razor blade to the dresser top and wiggle her hands apart. 

It was incredible! For long minutes she stood there looking at her freed 
wrists before her face. She massaged the marks where the cords had been 
pressing her flesh in. She spread her arms gloriously far apart and did all 
kinds of exercises to move her arms and legs and demonstrate their freedom. 
It was intoxicating, such freedom. She realized that it had been a very long 
time since she had last been free and alone. Well, she corrected herself, it 
had only been last Friday, four days before, when Greg had freed her and 
sent her to buy the fixings for his little party. The same party at which 
she had been shown off nearly naked and later tightly bound up before many 
men. And the same party at which she had been sold to the highest bidder to 
be carried away for a weekend of torture and rape. That thought sobered her 
and she remembered the real purpose of her escape. 

Extremely grateful that Greg had chosen not to fix her leg irons upon her 
feet, and that he wanted to see her wrists bound with ropes, supremely 
confident in his ability to make her helpless. And she would have been 
helpless had it not been for her remembering that he shaved with a razor 
blade. The thought had come late at night as she lay there thinking. When 
she knew that she had a way to freedom, she sank thankfully into a deep 
sleep. 

And had he chained her ankles together today, she would have had to wait for 
another day to try her escape. Or had he handcuffed her wrists together, she 
would have to wait again. But he didn't. The funny part was that she really 
didn't plan her escape to avoid the punishments planned for her that 
evening. In times past she had seriously struggled against the ropes and had 
wanted to free herself. But it wasn't only to avoid punishment. She would 
have loved to see the expression on Greg's face when he came through the 
door to find her casually ready to pour his favorite cocktail, unencumbered 
by fetters of any kind. That would have made all the effort to struggle free 
of the ropes worth it. 

But today she wanted freedom for a different reason. She would have accepted 
hanging by her wrists, or even by her ankles upside down. It might have been 
interesting. And she loved the way Greg's eyes were bright with excitement 
when he punished her that way. No, today her struggle had not been to avoid 
a little punishment. Today she wanted freedom so she could walk away from 
Greg. 

It had taken much thinking but her mind was made up. She loved Greg. She 
loved most of his little punishments and games. Some were so exciting it 
sent shivers down her spine to think of them. She even loved him after he 
had whipped both her breasts and pussy until they hurt so much she had been 
screaming. But she couldn't love him when he gave her over to be sexually 
used by a stranger. 

As she gathered clothing from the dresser and closet and carefully packed 
them into a small suitcase, she told herself that she just needed a little 
time to be by herself and think things out. There was so much about Greg 
that she loved, but there was also a part of him that she didn't love. And 
she wasn't sure which was worse, actually being raped by that stranger, or 
the fact that Greg thought he owned her so completely that he could just 
give her to other men. She hadn't minded being "owned" by Greg when it meant 
that she was kept in almost constant bondage, taken to restaurants with 
handcuffs upon her wrists, or even shown off to other men while she was 
naked and tightly bound up. In fact, all of those had been exciting. But she 
wasn't sure she was ready to be owned so completely that she could be given 
to other men. That was different. 

So Daphene packed her bag, put in those piece of jewelry that Greg had given 
her in her purse, and added a few cosmetics that no woman would ever go 
anywhere without. Then she stood there looking down at the zipped up 
suitcase for a long time, questioning in her mind if she was doing the right 
thing. Finally she decisively grabbed the handle and walked firmly towards 
the front door. She was almost there when she realized that she was still 
naked. With an embarrassed giggle, she dropped the suitcase and retreated to 
the bedroom to find suitable clothing. Society took a dim view of naked 
girls walking around their streets. 

There were plenty of dresses still left in the closet and she selected a 
light summer dress in soft shades of blue. It matched her eyes nicely. Then 
a pair of white shoes and a small gold necklace. She had started with a pair 
of panties but couldn't find a bra. She had lovely breasts with a firmness 
and shape few women enjoy, so she had taken to not often wearing a bra. Then 
came her life with Greg and she never wore a bra. Except during that party 
four days ago, she reminded herself again. But she couldn't find that sexy 
little number she had worn at the party so she dressed without. It felt 
better. Besides, she liked the feel of the silky material against her 
nipples. 

The cut pieces of rope laying on the floor caught her eye and a smile came 
to her face. With care she picked up every piece of rope and the razor blade 
and went to the bathroom. There she cut the longer strips into tiny pieces 
and flushed them all down the drain. Then she replaced Greg's razor in his 
razor holder and replace that as exactly as it had been when he finished 
shaving. She giggled to herself at the thought of Greg wondering where she 
was and how she had freed herself. He would probably wonder is she had just 
walked out still bound and naked. Of course, he would eventually find her 
clothes gone and know that she hadn't walked out naked but it might give him 
a few moments wondering. 

Then she was back at the front door. With a deep breath, she picked up the 
suitcase and walked out of Greg's house and his life. Perhaps forever. 

She had found a few crumpled dollar bills in the bottom of her purse, and a 
twenty she keep carefully folded for emergencies in a compartment of her 
wallet. She walked half a mile to the nearest bus stop, then used some of 
that money to ride the bus downtown. One transfer and she was standing in 
front of her bank. 

It was fortunately for her that she still had her checkbook in her purse. If 
Greg had thought to really make her a prisoner, he would have taken away 
every access she had to money. That might not have stopped her but it wouid 
have slowed her down. As it was, it took only a minute to withdraw a couple 
thousand dollars in cash and tuck it in her purse. With that, her credit 
cards, and check book, Daphene was ready to disappear. She was very glad 
that she was a wealthy woman in her own right. Not nearly as wealthy as 
Greg, but she didn't have to work since she could live of the income from an 
inheritance from her parents. But she knew that Greg was one of those truly 
wealthy men, and he could afford to get a private detective on her trail. So 
she planned to disappear. If she ever came back to Greg, it would be on her 
own, not because his hired private investigator found her and dragged her 
back. 

The airport had a variety of destinations available and Daphene looked them 
over carefully as she ate lunch. Three hours later she was sitting in a 
window seat of first class, traveling at over five hundred miles per hour 
towards the setting sun at forty thousand feet. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN - Bondage Under Harbor Lights 

California. Los Angeles. Hollywood. Land of Lotus Eaters and dreamers. And 
dream makers. A sprawling, hot, smoggy citadel perched on the west coast, 
waiting for the big earthquake that would send its teaming multitudes 
sliding into the Pacific Ocean. A land far different from where Daphene had 
grown up and lived all her life. But it was thousands of miles from Greg and 
had the advantage that the natives spoke English. Well, sort of. She was not 
used to English tinged with a California slur and colorful but strange 
slang. 

The airport was huge, crowded and busy beyond anything she had ever 
expected. But she found a bus service that took her to John Wayne Airport in 
Orange County. From there she took a taxi to one of the branches of a major 
hotel chain where she obtained a room on the eighth floor with a view of a 
line of hazy blue on the horizon they assured her was the Pacific Ocean. 

Finally alone and able to catch her breath, Daphene unpacked what little 
clothing she had brought with her and inspected every part of the room. Then 
she stood on the balcony overlooking the pool, office buildings, parking 
lots, and, a mile away, the ocean. There she asked herself, what next? She 
didn't have an answer. 

She dinned in the hotel restaurant and enjoyed steak fajitas, bite-sized 
pieces of beef fried in a hot pan with Mexican spices and onions, which they 
assured her was typical California food. Back in her room she watched a 
little television but couldn't get interested. Being tired from racing 
across the country, she tried to go to bed early but had trouble sleeping. 
Finally she rose, dressed and took the elevator downstairs. The gift shop in 
the lobby didn't have what she wanted so she asked a cabby to take her to 
the nearest shopping center. The mall turned out to be only a few blocks 
from the hotel and was open late. There were many shops but finally, in a 
camping store, she found what she wanted. She fled back to the hotel room, 
clutching her package. 

In the room, she shed her clothing and kicked off her shoes. Then she 
carefully laid opened and laid out her purchases. The rope was nylon and a 
little stiff for newness. She bound her ankles together, taking care to 
cinch down the main loops and tie the knots as tight as she could. Then she 
made some loops of another rope and slid her hands into them. She twisted 
her wrists around so that the ropes tightened down. Her hands were in front 
of her and she knew she could easily untwist them but it was comforting to 
feel herself again naked and restrained. She lay back on the bed and closed 
her eyes. For a long time she lay there, remembering many things. Then the 
crossed and bound wrists lowered towards her pubic patch. Soon her fingers 
were intertwined in the curls, stroking gently her private place. She never 
opened her eyes, not even when her body worked itself up to a pretty good 
but not really intense orgasm. 

It was nothing like she remembered having felt at Bill's or when her Greg 
made love to her. She fell asleep and awoke the next morning to find that 
she hadn't removed the ropes from her wrists and ankles. As she untied 
herself she knew what she had to do. 

It didn't take long to find out where the rich and beautiful people hung 
out. Newport Beach probably has more expensive yachts per square mile than 
any place on earth. The harbor channels were -lined with shoulder to 
shoulder boats of every size from twenty-five feet on up to monsters. And 
the cocktail lounges around the harbor was the happy hunting grounds for 
pretty young woman looking for a rich man to show her a good time. Daphene 
fit right in with the scene in her very expensive and very revealing silk 
dress, accented by a simple diamond necklace and dipped down into the ample 
cleavage displayed by her electric blue dress. Every male eye in the place 
scanned her figure as she walked slowly in and up to the bar. She was well 
aware of the male attention and felt a little thrill at it. 

After that it was only a matter of Daphene's sorting through all the males 
who tried to pick her up. She allowed them to buy her a drink, which she 
left barely tasted on the table, and to engage her in conversation. Then, if 
they didn't pick up on her hints, she suggested that they might leave before 
her husband came. A few minutes later another expensively dressed potential 
Romeo would slide up to her and begin his line. 

"Do you know how to treat a lady?" Daphene asked each as man as she sat 
there with her wrists crossed demurely in her lap but plainly visible. 

Those who told her they would shower her with gifts got the old heave-ho. 
Those who leered and told her that they had a magnificent tool with which to 
please any young lady also got the heave-ho. And those who blinked and 
weren't sure what was expected of them also lost out. 

Daphene changed cocktail lounges twice, which was not hard as there was row 
of them. After a couple of hours she found what she was looking for. 

He was late thirties with a touch of. The expensive suit and easy grace with 
which he moved hinted at an athletic life style. 

"Mind if I sit down? I'd like to meet you," he said simply and honesdy. 
Daphene nodded and allowed a little more dress to slide up revealing even 
more thigh. She had been practicing the maneuver all night and had it down 
to where it looked perfectly natural. "My name's Brian. Would you like a 
drink?" 

"I have one. But thank you." Daphene didn't want to get drunk and 
appreciated that this man didn't insist on her having a fresh drink. 

"Do you like California?" he asked with a faint smile. 

"How do you know I'm not from here?" 

"Accent. And clothes. That dress would fit more into New York than Newport 
Beach. We tend to tennis outfits and casual clothing out here. I think I 
could almost tell you which little and very exclusive shop made that dress 
for you." 

"Like it?" 

"Very much. And what's in it. You are beautiful." 

"Thank you." He seemed sincere about his praise, not just buttering up a 
girl. 

For a minute he gazed at her, but at least his eyes were mostly on hers, not 
roving all over her body like most men. "I have a boat not far from here. If 
you don't think it's being too forward, would you like to see what the 
harbor lights look like from the ocean side?" 

"Depends. Do you know how to treat a lady?" Her hands smoothly slid to their 
crossed position on the table before her. 

That faint smile tugged again at the corner of his mouth. Easily his hand 
crossed the table and covered both of her wrists, the fingers firmly curling 
around so that both wrists were held together. "Gently but firmly," he told 
her. For several long seconds he held her wrists together and Daphene felt 
as if they were locked as securely as Greg's ropes had ever done. She could 
sense the strength in this man's hands, but also that he was holding with 
only the forced needed, none more. She also noted the large flashing diamond 
in his ring. She needed a man who had, among other things, money and this 
man seemed to fit the bill. She did not try to pull her hands free, instead 
she smiled at him. 

"I would love to see the harbor lights. And if a storm comes up, perhaps 
you'll have to lash me to the mast to keep me from being swept overboard." 
She was teasing him, her eyes said so' and he knew it. 

"I would hate to have you swept overboard. I'll do what is necessary to keep 
you safe." As he released her wrists his smile matched hers. She appreciated 
that it was not a leer like most men had. And she fully understood that they 
were communicating. This man had understood her hint and replied in a way 
that made her feel little tingles down her spine. 

She pushed her drink aside and rose. He quickly followed her example and 
they walked out of the lounge with all male eyes in the place following. 

His little boat was in the eighty to one hundred foot range and had a crew 
of five. Only two of them were aboard but that was enough to fire up the 
engines and guide the big cabin cruiser along the black water that reflected 
a thousand lights. They watched from the desk and Daphene was fascinated by 
the hundreds of boats and expensive homes. When they cleared the breakwater, 
they turned and paralleled the coast half a mile out to give a very 
beautiful view of the lights. The two left the captain to steer the boat and 
went below to the main cabin which was furnished like a very plush lounge. 

"Thank you, Brian," Daphene said. "The harbor lights are beautiful." 

"Glad you like them. Unfortunately there are no gales expected. I had rather 
thought that you lashed to the mast would be a very interesting sight...." 
He let the hint trail off. 

"I expect I would be." Daphene looked into his eyes and found a healthy 
interest in her youthful and very ripe body but not an overpowering lust. 
This was ... Well, she told herself, this man was a gentleman. And he might 
well know what I want to find out. With the tip of her tongue peeking 
between her lips, Daphene jump off the deep end, telling herself that there 
was only one way to find out if he was the man she needed. 

"Too bad about the weather reports. But perhaps we could practice...? Just 
in case the weather turns bad." 

"Indeed?" 

"You wouldn't happen to have some rope? That is what you would need to lash 
me to the mast, isn't it?" 

He smiled and left the room. A few seconds later he was back with four coils 
of ropes in his hands, all of cotton clothesline, all neatly coiled up but 
not new. He tossed them on the coffee table and smiled. But it was a 
friendly smile, not a fiendish leer. Taking a step closer he faced her and 
gently placed his hands on each side of her head. Then he slowly brought her 
face to his and kissed her with feeling. 

Daphene felt her knees go a little weak. She liked this Brian. "Don't hurt 
me," she whispered when his lips released hers. 

"Never. But you'll be one well-bound up girl," he told her, dropping their 
chatter about masts and storms. 

"I hope so," she managed to get out. Inside Daphene was a mixture of 
emotions. It was so strange to want this man to tie her up. Greg had been 
the only other man she had every felt that way about. Bill was good with the 
ropes and had created some positions that made her feel really helpless. But 
she hadn't wanted Bill to tie her because he was also the one raping her. 
And a tiny part of her mind was screaming for attention, trying to point out 
that she taking a big risk by letting a stranger who picked her up in a bar 
tie her up. She told her that tiny part of her mind to go to hell, and 
turned her back and crossed her wrists behind her. 

But first his hands were upon the straps of her gown. "Would be a pity if 
this were to get ripped," he told her as he slipped them off her lovely 
shoulders. Daphene stood there as he slipped the clinging material down her 
body until it was a circular pool of electric blue around her feet. Daphene 
swallowed hard, her heart running a little fast as she stood before him 
completely naked. 

"You're beautiful," he told her quite sincerely. "And you'll look even more 
beautiful when you're all tied up." 

The crossed wrists were first to feel the bit of cord. He expertly looped 
them and cinched them down, a bit on the tight side but not painfully so. 
Daphene knew that any less and there might be a possibility of escape should 
she put out the effort. The next loop went around her elbows, pulling them 
toward each other but not trying to make them join. With her wrists crossed, 
pulling the elbows together tightened the ropes around her wrists 
considerable. Again Brian selected a degree of tightness that made Daphene's 
arms firmly bound but not so tight that she would be hurting. More rope 
passed from the elbow bondage around her shoulders and back, securing the 
ropes tightly against her. And some rope was added from the elbows and 
shoulder ropes to her wrists, pulling them upward and tightening up the 
whole arrangement. When he stepped back to get the next coil of rope, 
Daphene gave an experimental shake of her torso and arms. They were quite 
firmly bound and she knew she could never work herself free from this man's 
ropes. 

He helped her step out of her dress and as she stood before him, naked and 
robbed of arms, he kissed her again. It was a long, slow kiss filled with 
unhurried passion. His arms went around her body and pressed her to him. She 
could feel his shirt against her breasts and felt that old, familiar fire 
begin smoldering in her loins. When both hands slid down to grab her bottom 
cheeks, she jerked a little as if an electric shock had raced along all her 
sexual nerves. She began returning his kiss with a passion that surprised 
even her. 

For a while they stood there, his hands playing with her lovely and helpless 
body while Daphene, with an easy acceptance that surprised her, responded 
and loved it. She felt so helpless with her arms firmly bound behind her, 
and it was a delicious helplessness. His hands knew all her sensitive spots 
and when he bent down to capture a rigid nipple in his mouth, she sighed 
with pleasure. As his tongue toyed with it, she closed her eyes and 
surrendered to the pleasurable feeling. He sucked and ran his tongue around 
it, which sent shivers up and down her spine. When he came back up, her 
eager mouth sought his and she kissed him deeply, her tongue playing with 
his, telling him in an ancient wordless language that she wanted this man to 
take her. His hand found her pussy and his fingers spread its lips apart. 
Then two fingers on either side of her clit, squeezing her most tender place 
between them and evoking a gasp of pleasure from her. Soon she was thrusting 
her hips against him in an urgent need. 

Disengaging from her armless embrace, Brian pulled a pair of handcuffs from 
his pocket and knelt down to lock them on her ankles. He turned her towards 
the door at the end of the lounge and swatted her bottom with a strong hand. 
"The bedroom is through there," he said. "Get going." Then he entered the 
door he had pointed out, leaving Daphene standing ' nakedly in the middle of 
the lounge. 

She looked down with a familiar thrill to see the shinning metal locked 
around each ankle. Suddenly it was like old times and she felt good about 
it. She hobbled slowly, clinking the single link between the cuffs as she 
went. The bedroom was not big but lavishly laid out in multiple shades of 
blue. On the bed lay Brain, naked and obviously ready for what Daphene 
wanted. She shuffled over to the side of the bed and twisted so she could 
sit down. Then she swung her legs upon the bed so she was sitting next to 
him. "Will be easier if you unlock my feet," she said. 

"I know." He produced the key from a night stand and unlocked both ankles. 
Then he pulled her over to the center of the bed and spread her legs wide. A 
rope looped about each ankle secured her feet to the corners of the bed and 
forced her legs into a wide "V". With her legs secured and her private parts 
held incitingly open, he mounted the bed between her legs. In a second 
Daphene found herself laying on bound arms and a man's rigid rod sliding up 
into her. She gasped as it entered her sheath and was quickly thrusting her 
hips back against his. Without realizing she was doing it, Daphene was 
fighting the ropes that held her arms, tugging and twisting in an emotional 
effort to free her arms. Or to convince herself that she was indeed 
helpless. Daphene did not think about it. All her mind could focus upon was 
the incredible feeling that this man was creating inside her cunt. She 
matched his thrusts with her own and cried aloud when she exploded and all 
she could see were brilliant flashing lights behind her closed eyes. 

When she drifted back to earth, Daphene found herself still bound to the 
bed, her legs still spread wide, and her pussy glowing warmly in the sexual 
aftermath. Brian was returning to the room with two drinks in his hands. 

"Welcome back to this world," he commented with a smile. 

"You really get spaced out, don't you?" 

"If you mean, do I enjoy it: yes. It's very intense. I get sort of carried 
away. But that's the way it is for all girls. Isn't it?" 

He shook his head. "Some women just lay there like they were asleep. Some 
get a little worked up. And some explode, like you do. Did you know that you 
were struggling against the ropes almost all the time, even after you 
climaxed?" 

Daphene said nothing. Sex with Brian was something wonderful. But she wasn't 
used to a man talking to her about it afterwards. Greg usually put his arm 
over her and went to sleep. 

"You're quite a woman. Beautiful. Gorgeous body. Smart, too. And you climax 
with more intensity and obvious delight than any girl I've ever seen." 

"Thank you." Daphene wasn't sure that was the right thing to say but she 
felt she had to say something. 

Brian helped her up to a sitting position and then held up one glass to her 
lips that she might sip. She was grateful for the potent liquid. "Are you 
going to untie me now?" she asked. 

"No." Daphene felt a thrill. "Not even if I asked you to?" 

"You don't want to be untied," he said matter-of-factly. 

Daphene felt she should protest but she knew that he was right. She did feel 
comfortable with her arms taken away from her. It was a good and proper 
feeling. She told herself that it came from all those days she had been left 
bound up in Greg's house awaiting his return, but also admitted to herself 
that perhaps it was simply more a part of her nature. 

"Are you planning to whip me?" As soon as it was out, Daphene wondered why 
she had said that. 

Brian did not answer immediately. When he did his voice as a little more 
serious. "Do you deserve it? I could punish you if you did something to 
deserve it." His words were slow and very deliberately chosen. Daphene 
realized that they were communicating on a second level again. Like that 
lashing her to the mast thing. He was really asking if she wanted the pain 
of a whipping. And telling her that he would do it if she said she wanted 
it. But did Daphene want to be whipped? Why had she brought up the subject? 

"I've been whipped before," she said quietly. 

"I know. I can see the faded marks. Were you a naughty girl?" 

For answer Daphene leaned over as far as she could and tipped his glass with 
her nose from the night stand to the floor. Then she looked into Brian's 
eyes but said nothing. Inside, she was wondering what the hell she was 
doing. 

"That was a very naughty thing to do," he told her as he wiped up the 
spilled drink with a towel. "Very naughty." 

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" She was taunting him, provoking 
an action that she should not sensibly want. 

His reply as to untie her legs from the comers of the bed and tossing the 
ropes in the comer. He pulled her off the bed and walked her to the center 
of the cabin. He positioned her legs together and told her to stand still. 
Then he took a leather belt from his pants. Daphene gulped and cursed 
herself for ten kinds of a fool. 

Brian positioned himself behind the naked and bound girl. "Bend forward," he 
told her firmly. Daphene obeyed, bending at the waist so that her bottom was 
sticking back and an easier target. "More." She bent more, careful about her 
balance. With arms bound behind her back, it wasn't easy to bend too far 
forward. 

Suddenly her bottom exploded into fire, accompanied by a cracking sound as 
the leather stuck her bare flesh. "Ohhhh!" she cried and had to step forward 
to keep her balance. Quickly she returned to the spot she had been placed 
in. 

"That's one, Master," she calmly said. Crack! "That's two, Master." Crack! 
"That's three, Master." The count ran to ten by which time Daphene was in 
tears and her bottom a fiery agony. A doubled over belt makes a good whip as 
Daphene's bruised and discolored bottom could testify to. Suddenly his hand 
was on her bottom, not a gentle feeling but a rough kneading that sent pain 
shooting into her. "Oh, Master, that hurts!" i 

"Get on the bed. On your back." Daphene sniffed back the tears and hurried 
to obey. 

Her bottom against the covers was a strange mixture of pain and tingling 
pleasure. But she had little time to consider that as Brian was upon her, 
his rigid rod showing how much a man enjoys whipping a girl. Instantly she 
was impaled upon the rod with a huge gasp of pleasure from her lips. Their 
second coupling of the evening was every bit as intense as the first, and 
just as satisfying. 

After their mutual pleasure, Brian pulled back the covers and helped Daphene 
crawl under them. Then he turned off the light, opened a couple of 
portholes, and crawled into bed beside a girl with a sore ass. As she was 
drifting off into a very warm and pleasant sleep, Daphene wondered at how 
easy it had been to replace Greg with a new master. But she didn't worry. 
She just cuddled next to him, her breasts pressed against his chest and her 
still bound arms away from him. One of his arms went over her and the hand 
gasp the ropes linking her elbows. He didn't pull the ropes, he just held on 
to them. Daphene felt the hold and it made her very comfortable. It was just 
her master holding her leash. 

The sounds and smells upon awakening were different. Daphene's eyes opened 
to see a small, round window with sunlight streaming through it. She went to 
stretch and quickly discovered that her arms were still bound behind her 
back. Then she remembered the evening before, Brian, his yacht and her 
impulsiveness in practically begging this stranger to tie her up and then, 
more disbelief, to whip her bottom. She arched her body in a lazy stretch, 
dislodging the silken sheet to reveal her lovely nakedness in the golden 
sunshine. Then she swung her feet over the bed's edge only to find that her 
ankles were shackled by a pair of handcuffs. She didn't remember those being 
on her when she fell asleep the previous night so she assumed Brian added 
them. The empty bed confirmed that he was already up and about. 

Daphene stood and shuffled her way across the small bedroom. The door was 
open and she made it into the lounge without difficulty. She was, after all, 
experienced at walking with chained ankles. Brian was nowhere in sight but a 
man was there, picking up the cocktail glasses from the night before and 
placing them on a silver tray. He looked up and didn't seem at all surprised 
to find a naked woman standing there, naked and with her arms and ankles 
bound. 

"Good morning, miss." His voice was definitely English, educated and deep. 
"I trust you slept well?" 

For a second Daphene was stunned. She hadn't expected to see a strange man, 
especially one who so easily accepted her nudity and bondage. "I slept 
fine." 

"Good. Mr. Billings had to attend a business meeting at his corporation this 
morning. He said to convey his regrets at not being here to greet you, and 
that he will join you in time for lunch." 

"Will you untie me, please?" Daphene turned her back and wiggled her 
fingers. 

"My instructions, miss, were to not untie you unless your hands were 
distressed." He gave a quick examination, feeling her fingers with a gentle 
touch. "You hands and arms appear in satisfactory shape, miss. Are either 
causing you undue pain?" 

Daphene paused. "Well ... I guess not. They feel fine. But they are tied 
behind my back, you see. I would like them untied." 

"Mr. Billings would prefer that you remain so bound until he can join you 
for lunch." 

Daphene started to protest but cut it short with a sigh. She wasn't hurting. 
And she want to talk to Brian again. "Do you often find naked and tied up 
girls in your master's lounge?" She turned around to give him a good view, 
as if he wasn't already well aware that she was both naked and restrained. 

"It's happen before, miss." 

"Oh." 

"I will bring breakfast for you, miss." 

Daphene watched the servant, and that is what she assumed he was, depart. 
Then she sat down on a sofa. It was certainly not unusual for Daphene to be 
bound up with ropes or handcuffs, so that didn't bother her. And she was 
strangely unconcerned that she as, in effect, the prisoner of this man she 
had met only the night before. He certainly knew about tying a girl with 
ropes, her well-bound arms attested to that. And he understood how to make a 
girl's bottom burn just the right amount to get her juices flowing. And in 
bed he had been pretty good at pleasing a girl's sexual needs. But it was 
his knowledge of ropes and whips that interested her most. It implied that 
he understood the need in some girls to be keep prisoner, at least some of 
the time. He had read her well enough to know that she would accept the news 
that she was to be keep bound without hysterics. He probably even knew that 
she would like the feeling and find it natural. The fact that his servant 
had seen other girls in similar states before certainly argued in that 
direction. 

Breakfast came on a tray and smelled delicious. Daphene found herself 
ravenously hungry and eager to get at the food. "But how can I eat with my 
arms bound behind me?" she asked in total innocence. 

"I will feed you, miss." And he did, forkful by forkful, even holding the 
coffee cup to her lips. The food was good. 

"What's your name," Daphene asked between bites. "Mine's Daphene." 

"I know, miss. Mr. Billings told me this morning. My name is Charles Nelson 
Hawkins. You may call me Charles." 

"Does Brian often have naked girls tied up on this yacht?" 

"Most girls who come aboard do wind up in some state similar to yours, 
miss." He paused while Daphene chewed, then added casually, "The last time I 
found Tabitha hogtied on this very table. She was also naked, and gagged. 
And, if I remember correctly, the ropes were considerably tighter than those 
exhibited by you at this time." 

"She spent the night in a tight hogtie! Didn't that hurt her?" 

"I cannot say, miss. She did seem to exhibit considerable relief when she 
was released from that bondage. I did, however, get the impression that she 
had not been placed into that exact hogtie until around two o'clock in the 
morning. She did not, therefore, spend the entire night so bound. I must 
also say that I got the distinct impression that she had enjoyed her 
experience, however painful it might have been." 

Daphene was silent on that one. She remembered the wonderfully tight bondage 
that Bill had put her in just a few days before and knew how a girl could 
enjoy four or five hours in a tight hogtie. 

"Where are we?" she asked. 

"Docked in the harbor, miss." 

"Good breakfast, Charles. I enjoyed it." 

"Thank you, miss." 

"What can I do while I'm waiting for Brian?" 

"You have the full run of the boat, miss. However, since we are docked in a 
regretfully crowded harbor, it would be ill advised for you to put an 
appearance in above deck. Shock the locals somewhat, it would." 

"Then I'm stuck down here?" 

"I can put a movie on the video, miss." 

"No, thank you. A movie doesn't sound good." Daphene looked around. A movie 
didn't really sound very interesting. And she couldn't hold a book to read 
it with her arms bound behind her back. 

"Charles, how long will it be before Brian returns?" 

"Probably three hours, miss. Unless the meeting runs long." 

"Well, could you ... I mean, would you tie me in a hogtie on the coffee 
table? It doesn't have to be as tight as you described for that other girl. 
But you already have my arms bound. I'll cooperate." 

"Very well, miss." Charles left, taking the breakfast tray with him. 

When he returned he held two coils of rope in his hands. "If you would allow 
me to assist you into a laying position on the coffee table...?" 

Daphene stood and allowed herself to be lowered to the table top. She bent 
her legs up, expecting him to tie the rope to the handcuffs around her 
ankles. Instead he unlocked the handcuffs and bound her ankles together with 
one of the lengths of rope. Then he tied her ankles to her wrists, pulling 
the ropes just tight enough to make her legs fold up but not nearly as tight 
as he could. The other coil of rope was used to wrap around her waist and 
the table, holding her firmly down. 

"I wouldn't wish you to roll off the table and hurt yourself, miss." 

"Of course not, Charles. This is very comfortable." 

"Will there be anything else, miss?" 

"You mean like a gag?" 

"Whatever you desire." 

"No! I'm just kidding. But there is one thing you could do. You could open 
the drapes and let more sunlight in. I'm down low enough so that people 
can't see me even if they look in. And I would like the fresh air and 
light." 

"Very good, miss." The drapes were pulled back and windows opened. Daphene 
could smell the sea air, mixed with many other odors strange to her. Charles 
paused next to the door. "Will there be any thing else, miss?" 

"No, Charles. Thank you." 

"My pleasure, miss." 

And he was gone, leaving Daphene wondering if she was crazy. But when she 
thought about it, wanting, actually wanting, to be hogtied on the table 
wasn't so crazy. She had expressed a wish to be keep bound up all day many 
times before by simply accepting the act when Greg did it to her. Not saying 
no is the same as saying yes, she figured. Besides, there was not much she 
could do if she couldn't go up on the deck, so she might as well be tied to 
that table. 

She wiggled a bit and tugged here and there but quickly confirmed that she 
was well bound and wouldn't be going anywhere. The table was a little hard 
but not too bad. She was comfortable and actually felt secure. The fact that 
she was a prisoner and couldn't move simply seemed natural. 

It was after having lain there for at least an hour that Daphene realized 
the real reason she had asked Charles to hogtie her. She wanted to impress 
Brian when he returned. Instead of finding her tied and shackled as he had 
left her, he would find that she had gone him one better and arranged for 
herself to be in more restrictive bondage. 

Brian was impressed. He walked around the coffee table with its cargo of 
lush woman in secure bondage and smiled with real appreciation and joy. 

"Charles says that you asked him to hogtie you. Have you enjoyed the 
morning?" 

"It was okay. Do I look nice?" 

"Beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world." Daphene blushed. Brian 
sat on the sofa before her and gazed at her with an amused but half serious 
smile. "Well, now what do we do? I sort of insisted on having you as a 
'house guest' for the morning. Oh, by the way, Charles would have untied you 
if your hands hurt. Or if you insisted on being freed." He let the last few 
words hang for a minute to make sure she would understand what he was 
saying. "I though you would like it. And your asking for the hogtie 
confirmed that. But now we see where we go from here. Any suggestions?" 

"I'm hardly in position to dictate my fate," Daphene responded with a wiggle 
of her body to show off the ropes. 

"You are, and you know it. I am not in the habit of making pretty girls 
prisoner against their will. At least not for long," he added with a smile. 
Sitting back on the sofa and pursed his lips. "You are certainly welcome to 
remain my 'house guest', with or without the ropes, for as long as you like. 
I would like that. You are a beautiful and fascinating woman. And I suspect 
there is an interesting story behind those faded whip marks on your bottom." 

"Perhaps I'll tell you one day. Do you know of The Club?" Daphene finally 
got to the real reason she had wanted to meet a man like Brian. 

For a second he just stared at her, his features unreadable. Finally he 
inhaled deeply. "How do you know of The Club?" 

"Is it a place where girls are sold? I mean really sold, like slaves, 
against their will?" 

"The Club is simply the continuation of a practice that goes back to when 
our ancestors were living in caves. Men have always felt that they should 
own women. From that there is only a small step to selling and buying them. 
Hell, what is marriage? A woman sells her body for security and a man who 
will go out and earn the money to shelter and feed them. She may love him, 
but the principle is the same. He owns her. He provides for her. And, in 
exchange, she provides him with the pleasure of ownership of a woman. Or at 
least she should." The last remark held a trace of bitterness. "So The Club 
is real?" 

"The Club exists. But why are you so interested in a place that sells 
girls?" 

Daphene paused for a while to shape her words, which was not easy as she was 
somewhat unsure herself. "I was owned by a man up until a few days ago," she 
began. "At first it was just a few playful games, my wrists getting tied 
behind me while we made love. But then I was left tied up longer and longer 
until finally he would leave me tied all day while he was at his office." 
She took a deep breath. 'Then it got to be more. I was kept almost 
constantly in ropes or chains. He bought a pair of handcuff and even a pair 
of leg irons. I didn't mind. Well, you can probably see right through me -I 
like it. I guess I'm just a naturally submissive girl. But then things 
changed. He whipped my bottom with a riding crop. And then one day he 
whipped my breasts and pussy with a small whip." She paused but Brian made 
no comment so she continued. "It hurt terrible but when we made love 
afterwards, I was so in love with him that I could have died. But things 
changed again. He gave a party and had me prancing around in some skimpy bra 
and panties to show off to his friends. Later he bound me up tightly with 
ropes and showed me off to a smaller group of men. And then ... Well, he 
simply sold me to the highest bidder. For a weekend only but it was for 
real. I was carried away in the trunk of his car like a piece of baggage or 
a sack of merchandise. I was tortured ... Well, not too terribly. But not 
too pleasantly, either. But the worst part was that I was raped." 

Daphene looked defiantly at Brian, hoping that he would understand what she 
was saying. 

"The daily bondage was okay. Even fun?" he asked. She nodded. "And even the 
whippings, while they hurt, were acceptable? Even exciting? Stimulating?" 

"Yes." Brian paused and looked at the ceiling. "A man would have to feel 
that he owned a girl, really owned her body and soul, before he would sell 
her to another man. Even for only a few days. I get the feeling that the 
worst part was being raped?" 

Daphene did not say a thing. She wasn't sure why she was opening up to this 
man but she felt comfortable with him. 

"So you ran away?" 

"I cut the ropes with his shaving razor and left." 

"I can understand that. But why did you seek out another man who you knew 
would tie you up. And maybe whip you? You weren't too subtle in that 
cocktail lounge. I watched as you talked to a couple of other men and then 
rejected them. To someone who understands, your crossed wrists was a 
complete give away. And last night you practically begged me to tie you and 
later to whip your bottom. Why?" 

Daphene frowned. "Because I like it. Well, yes, but something else. I'm not 
sure what I like. Or want? I guess I wanted to try some other men. I love 
him and the way he treats me most of the time. But I was hurt by what Greg 
did. I guess I want to find out just how much I really want to be a man's 
slavegirl. Do you understand?" 

"I think I do. You love parts of it but don't know where your limits are. 
Did you tell Greg how you felt?" 

"I told him before the 'auction' that I would do it only if he was the one 
who bought me. I made it clear that I wanted to play the part of the 
slavegirl on auction but not to be really sold to a stranger. He know how I 
felt." 

"But he felt he owned you and could do with you as he wished." 

"Yes." 

"Are you looking for another master? Do you want be keep in constant bondage 
or restraints without freedom? To be used as the man wishes? Even to be 
whipped?" 

"I don't know. I like most of it. I loved what you did to me. But to be a 
full time slave? I'm not sure any more. Does a man always have to feel he 
owns a woman completely?" 

"Most men do. It's natural. A man wants to possess his woman. He wants to be 
the dominant partner. Yes, most men, if they were totally honest with 
themselves, would like to own a woman body and soul." 

Daphene frowned. For a minute neither of them spoke. Finally Brian brought 
the conversation back to the bombshell Daphene had dropped at the beginning. 
"Why did you ask about The Club. Surely you're not thinking that you would 
like to be sold as a slavegirl? You do understand that those people aren't 
playing games? Once they get their hands on a woman, she's a slave -plain 
and simple. She's keep in some for of restraint constantly. She's used for 
any sexual purpose her owner wishes. And that includes giving her away for a 
night's pleasure to a friend. Or a business associate. And a slavegirl is 
punished quite severely when she is rebellious or protests. Sometime she is 
punished for no reason, simply because her master wants to. And it's a 
lifetime proposition. You would never be free. Is that what you want?" 

"I don't think so. I just want to understand what it is that I want. What 
will make me happy? I get such mixed up feelings inside. I heard of The 
Club. I guess I'm wondering if being a fully owned slavegirl is what I 
really want." 

"Well, I guess wanting to find out more about this ... This profession is 
logical. But perhaps that's not the right profession for you." 

"Would it be possible for me to see what it's like? I don't mean by being a 
slavegirl, but just to see how they're treated and what happens to them. Do 
those girls come to love their slavery? Or do they hate it forever?" 

Brian smiled. "Okay, I'll help you learn more about slavery. Let me make 
some arrangements and talk to some people. There may be some other 
alternatives I could show you, too. 

We'll see." 

With that he leaned forward and began untying the ropes that held Daphene 
prison to the coffee table. "But first I think that perhaps you would like 
to have bath. And then a nice lunch." 

As she sat on the coffee table, the ropes piled around her feet and 
massaging her hands, she smiled at Brian. "Thank you. For being a nice 
'Master'." 

"You may not thank me tonight when I again tightly tie you up and use a belt 
to warm up your bottom. That's before I make love to you, of course." 

Daphene frowned a little then realized that he was asking her if she would 
stay with him, not telling her. "I will be a good little slavegirl," she 
meekly bowed her head and averted her eyes in the most submissive pose she 
could manage. But they both knew they were not talking about an ownership, 
only a little fun and games. "And if you have to punish your slavegirl...." 

Brian laughed aloud with real pleasure. "I love you, you beautiful creature! 
And I'll love having you as a guest as long as you wish to stay." 

The bath was warm and deliciously sensual, scented with the smell of roses. 
Lunch was at a restaurant made from an old style river boat. They had fresh 
halibut at a table overlooking the harbor and enjoyed it. When they returned 
to his yacht, she demurely asked that he handcuff her wrists together before 
her. While he was getting the handcuffs, she tossed off all clothing. He 
didn't seem too surprised when he came back. The cuffs clicked on firmly and 
Daphene was once again a prisoner. But this time a willing prisoner. That 
night her bottom was indeed "warmed" up with Brian's belt and they make 
glorious love while she lay on arms bound with her elbows together. Her 
elbows and shoulders hurt from the tight ropes but that was glorious, too. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT - Slavegirl Auction 

On Wednesday afternoon Brian took Daphene to an unassuming house in the 
Hollywood hills where a small, older, bearded German took a complete set of 
measurements of her body. He said little beyond a suggestion that she strip 
naked so that he could get accurate measurements without having clothing in 
the way. Since she was wearing only a very light summer dress, it hardly 
seemed necessary but Daphene stripped without protest, making a mini-strip 
tease out of the process. She held her arms or legs as ordered while the 
small man busily move are her with a cloth measuring tape in his hands. It 
was much like getting measured for a custom dress except that such 
measurements seldom included ankle diameter, nipple size, and position of 
her vagina slit with reference to her waist and height above the floor. 

Daphene looked questionably at Brian but he offered no help and she held her 
questions in. Soon enough she would find out what was going on. Besides 
there was something she trusted about Brian. 

The measurement taken, Brian and the German conferred for a few minutes then 
excused themselves while she got dressed. They were soon back projecting the 
air of men having concluded a business deal satisfactorily. 

Then drove back to Newport Beach, stopping to pick up her bags at the hotel. 
Lunch was in a delightful French restaurant overlooking a small cliff and 
the Pacific Ocean. Catalina Island was visible as a brown hazy lump along 
part of the horizon. The food was excellent and Daphene enjoyed it. But her 
thoughts were in other places. 

"Would you take me to a fancy restaurant like this wearing handcuffs on my 
wrists," she asked between a bite of food and a sip of wine. 

Brian did not reply at once. When he did it was with an amused smile on his 
face. "Have you done that? Did that Greg take you to a restaurant with your 
wrists shackled?" 

"He did," she replied with some pride. Brian shook his head. 

"I doubt Henri would say anything but he would be shocked, This is a very 
proper restaurant, you know." 

"You didn't answer my question." Daphene held her wrists only an inch apart 
and took a bite of duck. 

Brian laughed. "Boy, are you something. Yes, I would take you to a 
restaurant wearing handcuffs. I'd tell everyone that you were a dangerous 
criminal and I'm taking you to prison. I'd tell them that you strangled your 
husband with your nylons while making love." 

Daphene had to laugh. But she also took his answer at face, he would take 
her out in public wearing restraints. For some reason that was important to 
Daphene. 

"What were all those measurements for? He didn't look like a dress maker." 

"He makes special bondage devices." Daphene's eyebrow went up in question 
but Brian didn't elaborate. 

"Well then, when am I going to get a look at this mysterious The Club where 
girls are bought and sold?" 

"Don't mock the place; it is real. And girls are sold into lifetime slavery 
there." 

"Well, when am I going to see this place?" 

"Tomorrow. Things had to be arranged carefully. 

Normally the only women who see the inside of The Club are girls being sold 
and an occasional rich woman who is coming to buy herself a slavegirl." 

"A woman?" 

"It happens. There are lesbians, you know." 

"But I never thought about one girl owning another. Just doesn't fit in with 
those adventure and romance novels, you know." 

"And you don't fit into either category. So I invented another category. 
You're going to be a slavegirl who is being shown the auction as an object 
lesson. Sort of a be careful or this will happen to you lesson." 

"And why the maker of special bondage devices?" 

"You're going to be the slavegirl of a rich man. 

You'll be wearing something fancier than just a pair of handcuffs." 

Daphene was amused. She trusted this man and thought the idea of going into 
a slave auction as an already owned slavegirl was exciting. She tried to get 
Brian to tell her what kind of special devise she would be wearing but he 
refused. "You'll see," was all she could get out of him. 

That night, after a visit to another of Newport Beach's finer restaurants, 
Daphene found herself back on the yacht. Brian told her that he had a little 
paperwork to do in his study and she should make herself comfortable. 

"If I'm a slavegirl, don't I get restraints?" 

"You're impossible. But come here." He clicked handcuffs on her wrists, 
making sure they were really snug, and left her to her own devices. For a 
while she lounged around the lounge, but then she went up on deck. The yacht 
was moored in the busy harbor and surrounded by many other boats and 
considerable water traffic, even though the sun had gone down. Well aware 
that she was wearing handcuffs behind her back, Daphene took care to lean 
against the a wall so her handcuffed wrists were hidden behind her. She 
liked the smell of the salt water, the many colored lights, and the busy 
channel. As she watched all sorts of boats from dinghies to yachts easily 
bigger than Brian's cruised by. She did note a trend -the bigger the boat, 
the older the captain. The little sailboats and filtered here and there in 
the dying evening breezes were usually driven by teenagers or young people. 
The truly impressive large boats were piloted by older men with hair. Boats 
half way between were owned by people half way between. 

"Does Miss Daphene like the harbor?" came a voice from her shoulder. She 
turned her head to find Charles standing there. She hadn't heard him come 
up. 

"Yes, it's beautiful. And the sunset is very nice." For a minute Charles 
gazed at the sunset. "Yes, miss. 

It is nice. I've seen better from the Mr. Williams' ranch in Arizona. But 
they have more dust in the air there to make sunsets." 

"He has a ranch?" 

"Not a working ranch, miss. There are four horses but it really isn't a 
ranch. We just call it that. Actually, it's simply his home when he wishes 
to be in the desert. As ranches go, it's not very large, only five hundred 
acres." 

Daphene smiled and searched Charles' face for signs that he was putting her 
on. There were none, he was serious. "And I suppose he has a ski chalet in 
Switzerland?" 

"The ski chalet is at Big Bear Lake, miss. And," he added with just the 
slightest trace of a smile, "the hunting lodge is Alaska." 

"Really?" 

"Of course, miss. But I'm afraid Mr. Billings doesn't use the hunting lodge 
much. He's really to busy these days." 

Daphene thought for a while before asking, "Does he often have girls on 
board? I mean girl who are chained up?" She turned so he could see the 
handcuffs. 

"It would be inappropriate for me to comment on my employer's appetites. Or 
his sexual preferences." 

"But you weren't shocked to find me naked and tied up?" 

"No, miss. It has happened before." Charles raised one eyebrow just the 
slightest. 

"Many times?" 

"I really couldn't say, miss." 

"Charles, you're terrible." 

"I might ask you, miss, why should you care about Mr. Billings' prior female 
acquaintances." 

Daphene dropped the subject. She had to admit to herself that she really 
should have no reason for caring what Brian did. They had no commitment to 
each other, that was for sure." 

"I'm going below now, Charles," she said as she glided as gracefully as she 
could towards the stairs. "Would you please come and do me a favor?" 

"Of course, miss." 

Charles finished tying the last knot. "Will that be all, miss?" he said very 
properly. 

Daphene tested the ropes holding her prisoner and gave her approval. "I'm 
not going to escape, Charles. You did a good job. Thank you. If you'll lean 
over, I'll give you a kiss." 

"That would not be proper, miss. You are a guest of my employer," he said 
with more than a trace of stuffiness. Daphene giggled at his departing back 
to let him know that she didn't believe for one minute he was really a 
stuffed shirt. 

Then she turned her attention to the way he had fixed her. It had been her 
idea, of course, sort of a surprise for Brian when he finished his 
paperwork. Of course, she didn't know when he would finish and she might 
well be laying here for hours. Would serve her right if that happened. She 
sighed but it there was a good deal of pleasure mixed in with the 
exasperation. 

She was naked. That was the natural condition for a slavegirl and Daphene 
knew just how appealing to men her body was. She had ordered Charles to bind 
her arms together behind her back, at the wrists and again at the elbows, 
bringing tight together and making her breasts stick out very nicely. She 
knew the servant hadn't missed the erect nipples. Then she had settled 
herself on the bed, spread her legs wide, and instructed him to bind each 
ankle to the corners of the bed. She didn't have to tell me to make the 
ropes tight and her legs very taunt. When he was finished, Daphene was one 
well-bound girl and not going to be getting up from the bed under her own 
power. 

She hoped Brian would appreciate the surprise awaiting for him. And a 
wonderful token of his appreciation would be a good, long screwing with that 
very nice tool of his. She hoped his paperwork wouldn't take too much 
longer. 

It was a while before the master of the yacht came into to the bedroom. 
Daphene had taken turns sitting up and laying down on her bound arms. When 
Brian came in, she was sitting up, trying to bend forward to relieve some of 
the strain in her legs. Quickly she allowed herself to fall back to the bed. 
She knew that her arms being bound under her made her breasts stick up and 
her hips higher off the bed than they would be had she just been laying 
down. 

"Your little slavegirl is ready for her Master," Daphene said in what she 
hoped was a sincere tone. It was hard to keep a little giggle out of her 
voice. This was an exciting game and she was enjoying it. 

"And does this slavegirl know the penalty for being impertinent?" 

"Why, what do you mean, Master?" 

"A true slavegirl knows that she does not select what will be done. She 
simply awaits her master's wish and then hurries to obey. You obviously 
expect that this display of your feminine charms in such bondage will excite 
me. In mm that will assure your being screwed, which is what you are 
planning for and fully expecting. A real master would punish you for such 
impertinence. I think a whipping would be in order. And certainly no 
screwing for that night. Wouldn't that be a proper punishment for a 
slavegirl who tried to push her master into doing what she wanted?" 

Daphene swallowed. She hadn't thought of that. "I only wanted to please you, 
Master. I wanted to show you that my body was yours to enjoy." 

"A master doesn't have to be shown that. Or told that by his slave. He 
knows. She knows. Should you be punished for this transgression?" 

Daphene hesitated, then said in a low voice, "Yes, Master." 

"Good, we understand each other. But," he paused for dramatic effect, "I am 
not a true master. I will swat you twice between the legs and then give you 
want you want." 

Daphene smiled until she saw him taking the belt out of his pants. She 
remembered how much a belt can hurt her bottom, and this time the target was 
not her ass. This was different from the small whip that Greg had used on 
her pussy. A lot different, but she didn't know if it would hurt more or 
less. "Yes, Master," she managed to get out, unable to take her eyes from 
the black leather strap in his hands. 

Without fanfare, Brian stepped forward and brought the belt directly across 
Daphene's pussy from the left side. She gasped loudly and sucked in her 
breathe at the burning pain. He quickly stepped over to the right side and 
followed up with another stroke. Both impacted the doubled over end solidly 
upon her sex, the second evoking a scream from the naked and distressed 
girl. She cut it off but was left gasping and panting. 

"Oh, Master, that was terrible. That hurt." 

"It was suppose to, slave." He was divesting himself of his clothing in an 
orderly progression. When all his clothes were laying on the chair, he 
mounted the bed and spread her pussy lips wide apart. Daphene gasped again 
as he rammed his shaft into her love tunnel. "Oh, MASTER!" she cried out. 

Brian wrapped his arms around her, one had hand pressing against her bound 
elbows, the other behind her head. His lips were upon hers and she eagerly 
returned his kiss, her tongue almost in a frenzy in its desire to tell him 
how good he made her feel. Then he was pumping and she was thrusting back 
with her hips, and it wasn't long before both were gasping with ecstasy as 
they crashed into mutual orgasm. 

For a long time Brian lay on top of her, his reduced tool still inside her 
hot pussy, his weight holding her a prisoner against the bed. Eventually he 
rose up on his arms but lowered his head until he had captured one nipple in 
his mouth. There began a sucking and tonguing of both nipples that quickly 
had Daphene moaning with pleasure and her hips beginning to thrust again him 
again. It was no surprise to her that his tool responded and begin filling 
her tunnel. Before long they were again thrusting against each other, grunts 
and moans of desire intermixed as they took their pleasure in each other's 
bodies. 

After the second coupling, Brian crawled off. He untied her legs from the 
corners of the bed, allowing Daphene to roll over onto her stomach. Her eyes 
were closed and her breathing heavy. She pushed her pussy into the bed 
covers because it felt so good. 

Daphene felt asleep shortly after that. Brian, before he drifted off, untied 
her arms and replaced the rope with handcuffs on her wrists. It was with 
wrists handcuffed behind her back that Daphene awoke in the morning. She was 
very satisfied and a happy woman. Then she remembered that this was the day 
she was suppose to visit the slave auction. 

Daphene was bathed and shampooed and looking beautiful when she walked into 
the bedroom. She was naked, a state that Brian seemed to like and that 
certainly felt natural to her after all those months with Greg. Brian was 
there. "I am ready," she said, looking at the unusual contraption laying on 
the dresser. 

It was made of metal, shinning silvery in the sunlight. There was a solid 
bar of metal, about two inches wide, and with bands attached to it at both 
ends and another about half way. A forth band was attached to the other 
side. Daphene fingered it with interest. It was both beautiful and a bit 
scary. "How does it go on?" she inquired with real interest. 

"Like this." Brian turned her around and fitted the device against her back. 
The band on the side by itself went around her waist at its narrowest point. 
The band at one end went around her neck and was padlocked behind her head. 
The band at the other end went around her wrists and was similarly 
padlocked. Brian forced her elbows together and the band in the middle went 
over them. It was padlocked and Daphene was allowed to view herself in the 
mirror. 

It was a beautiful piece of engineering. Her arms were locked together 
behind her just as if they had been bound with ropes. But they were also 
rigidly locked to that bar and could not be bent at all. The band around her 
neck was three inches wide and forced her to hold her head straight upright. 
She experimented and found that she could do nothing with her arms. They 
were securely locked to each other and to her back. 

"It's very impressive," she said with sincere awe. "I can't move my arms at 
all. I can see why you had exact measurements taken. This fits like it was 
made for me." She laughed. "Of course, it should! Oh, Brian, this is 
beautiful!" 

She turned this way and that, both so she could see all sides in the mirror 
and so Brian could see his device and what it did to her figure. As with 
anytime that her elbows were pulled together behind her, the strain made her 
breasts stand straight out. And the tummy band improved her waistline until 
it was beautiful. Not quite natural but a big improvement on nature. 

"Oh, Brian, it's beautiful. Is this what I'll wear to the slave auction?" 

"Yes. You'll look like a well cared for slavegirl. Which is what you're 
suppose to be." 

"Do I go naked? "That would be expected of a slavegirl, wouldn't it?" 

"Yes, Master." There was laughter in Daphene's eyes but her reply had been 
sincere. She turned around a couple more times, modeling this incredible 
bondage device. "There's a little ring on the bottom about where my fingers 
are. What's that for? And there's a small ring at the front of my neck 
collar." 

"Slavegirls are sometimes naughty," Brian announced. "It is convenient to be 
able to punish them without having to take off their bondage." He picked up 
a short length of silvery chain with small, smooth links. One end was 
attached to the ring at the bottom of the bar, then the chain was passed 
between her legs. He carefully spread the lips protecting her vagina and 
inserted the chain between them. Then he it up to the ring at her collar. It 
was necessary to pull a bit to get the snap at the end of the chain to click 
into the ring in her collar but he did it. 

"Oh, that's tight! That chain is cutting right into me! Brian, you're right, 
that is a punishment. Wow, that's tight. And if I move at arms at all it 
hurts more." She stood before the mirror to examine the sliver chain 
emerging from her pubic patch and attached to her neck collar. The chain was 
obviously tight. She was fascinated by it and the feelings it created in her 
body. "It hurts but it also feels nice. Well, sort of. Actually it hurts 
much more than it feels nice." She walked around a bit. "It's not too bad," 
she offered. "But I expect it gets worse?" 

"Right. Imagine what it would be like to have that chain and arm shackle on 
for, say, four hours? Six hours?" 

"Oh, Brian, I mean, Master. That would be torture." 

"It would hurt," he admitted. "And it would grow worse the longer it was 
on." He cupped her chin gentiy in his hand and kissed her full lips. She 
started to respond but he stepped back. "I was thinking that perhaps you 
would like to wear it all night some time." 

Daphene shivered deliciously. "Yes, Master," she breathed heavily. "I'd hate 
it, wouldn't I?" 

"Probably. But you really don't like to be whipped, do you?" 

"Well, no. It hurts terribly." 

"This is the same. It will hurt terribly to send an entire night in it. You 
probably won't sleep. And you'll know you've been a punished girl." 

"Yes, Master." Brian smiled and patted Daphene on the bottom. "Get your 
shoes on, we leave for The Club in half an hour." 

"But, Master, with that chain down there, you can't ... Well, I mean, you 
can't take pleasure in your slavegirl." 

"No, I couldn't. But a master can take pleasure in other ways. There is 
always your mouth." Daphene was silent. "And there is the fact that I enjoy 
simply watching you struggle in bondage. I enjoy watching you simply suffer 
your bondage, knowing that you are helpless to escape and are in pain." 

"Yes, Master. I know." Brian kissed her lightly on the cheek and left. 

Daphene gave her nude body another turn in the mirror and then sought out 
her shoes. They were black patent leather high heels, easily five inches of 
heel. She managed to slip them on with difficulty. Then she paraded around 
the room, enjoying the image she saw in the mirror. That was one restricted 
woman, she thought. And she looks so beautiful! Those breasts couldn't be 
nicer. And her legs look so lovely with those high heels on! She looked 
magnificent to herself and she wondered what the effect would be on a man. 

She did kind of wish he hadn't left that chain between her legs. But a 
slavegirl can't have everything. And she did want to understand what it 
meant to be a real slavegirl. Perhaps then she would understand herself 
better and know if she really wanted to be owned by Greg. Or any other man. 

Charles came to escort her to the car. He draped a coat over her shoulders 
and buttoned it up. She would pass for a girl with her hands in her pockets. 
Perhaps a girl standing a rather straight upright, but most people wouldn't 
suspect that she was bound in a metal arm binder. Or that her pussy was 
being cut in two by a small silver chain. 

Charles helped her with the stairs. It was a bit of a walk to the car and 
she felt very self-conscious that she was the only girl wearing a coat in 
the hot California sun. If those people could only see what was going on 
under that coat...! 

Charles helped her into the back seat of the car, this time a limo with a 
huge back seat. The coat had to be unbuttoned about half way up for her to 
be able to sit down. Charles closed the door and Daphene was alone. She 
smelled leather and scotch and guessed that there was a bar behind the panel 
before her. The windows were tinted very darkly and she was sure no one 
could see in. She tried to make herself comfortable but it wasn't easy with 
that metal shaft holding her arms rigid. And the chain between her legs 
didn't help, either. 

When Brian got in he noted that most of Daphene's legs were uncovered and he 
could easily see her pubic patch with it's silver chain. As soon as he had 
settled down next to her, the car moved away and she was on her big journey 
to see a slave auction. 

"The Club is actually several different places," Brian explained as the huge 
car moved smoothly up the San Diego freeway. There is one place in 
Hollywood, and another just outside of New York. And another a little 
outside Paris at a delightful chateau where they actually still make wine. 
And, as you would expect, one in the heart of Arabia. I believe there is one 
in Africa somewhere but I'm not sure about that." 

The talk then turned to other, safer and more bland topics. As they 
approached the Hollywood hills and Daphene could see the famous sign of huge 
white letters proclaiming the name of this town to the world, Brian got back 
to the subject. "You'll have to be blindfolded," he informed. "You're not 
suppose to see where this place is. Wouldn't be healthy." 

Daphene was a little surprised but that did make sense. Selling girls, 
especially in the heart of one of the biggest cities of the Land of the 
Free, was an illegal activity and those who ran it would insist on caution. 
Brian fitted a large blindfold over her eyes and Daphene made the rest of 
the journey in total darkness. 

The limo drove on for half an hour more over a twisty course that Daphene 
could make no sense of. She was in a strange city where she didn't know the 
streets at all. She thought that they were climbing into some mountains. 
Finally the car stopped, and she expected the blindfold would be taken 
immediately off. She was wrong. 

"I can't count on you to remember that you are a slavegirl," Brian told her. 
"You might ask some question or make some comment that would tell these 
people you're not really owned by me. So I'm going to gag you." 

As the rubber wad was going into her mouth, filling it and pushing her 
tongue down, Daphene told herself that it was only reasonable. Brian had to 
protect himself, after all. But why was she feeling so very helpless? 

The blindfold came off before she was helped out of the car but all Daphene 
could see was the inside of a garage, dimly lit. There were other cars 
parked around but she couldn't even make out the license plates. It dawned 
on her that the dim light was deliberate. The coat was taken from her and 
left in the car. 

She shook her head but the gag was firmly strapped into place and could not 
be dislodged. She was led down some stairs and along a corridor. There were 
doors but they were all closed and their contents hidden from her sight. 
Finally they came to a door at the end of the corridor. Brian opened it and 
led Daphene into a strange place. 

The room was like a small auditorium. There was a low stage at one end, 
three dozen seats and plenty of room for men to stand around those. The room 
was lavishly done in shades of red, modern but with an oriental rug on the 
floor with a Chinese pattern. A bar at the back provided whatever libations 
the customers might desire. All eyes immediately fell upon the naked, bound 
and gagged Daphene. None were shocked to see a girl in that condition, she 
told herself. But they all seem very interested in my body. A little thrill 
ran through her at the thought that she could immediately draw the attention 
of a room full of world-wise men. 

There were about a dozen men, mostly standing around, sipping drinks and 
chatting. A few sat by themselves and seemed to not want to socialize. She 
could see almost as many nationalities as there were men. One was dressed in 
the traditional tribal garb of an African prince while another wore the 
flowing garments of an Arab. It was the Arab who came over to greet Brian. 

"Brian," he began with no introduction, "it has been a long time since last 
we met. That oil deal in Cairo, I believe? It is good to see you." 

"And good to see you, Hasad, you old camel humper." The two men shook hands 
as old friends would, with Hasad not showing any signs of being insulted by 
the suggestion that he performed sexual intercourse with dromedaries. 

"And what is this lovely creature?" Hasad said as he performed a slow walk 
around Daphene, eyes roving up and down her nakedness. 

"A piece of property I own," Brain said levelly. "She is not for sale," he 
added. "I've brought her here so that she might see what happens to a girl 
who displeases her master and does get sold. She has spirit and needs ;o be 
shown that, for a slavegirl, she has it easy." 

"A girl who displeases her master is whipped," Hasad said matter-of-factly. 
"It is to be expected." 

"True. And she has been whipped. I know you noticed the marks." 

"But not recently. Many of my slaves bear almost constant fresh marks." 

"I thought that perhaps if she saw how bad it can be for a slavegirl...." 
Brian let his voice trail off. 

"I see you have been to that old Nazis, Himel. That arm holder bears his 
mark." 

"True." 

"But I did not think you went in for owning a slavegirl, Brian, old friend?" 

"A new acquisition," Brian replied casually. "I was quite taken in by her 
beauty. And she looks so beautiful in tight ropes. You know how I like tight 
ropes upon a girl." 

"And does she give you much pleasure in bed?" the Arab said with a leer. 

"Would I keep her if she did not?" They both laughed and Daphene sensed that 
the Arab would have asked more details about how this slave pleasured her 
master had not a hush suddenly fell over the room. All attention went to the 
stage where a small man with Arabian features but dressed in totally modem 
Western clothes was standing. 

"Please be seated. We will begin. You all know the usual rules. All bids are 
in cash, payable upon delivery unless other arrangements have been made in 
advance. Today we have three fine slaves for sale, all, as usual, of good 
quality. Today all girls are fresh acquisitions, no resales." 

Daphene wondered what the difference between a fresh acquisition and a 
resale but figured perhaps a slavegirl can be sold from one master to 
another. Sort of like a used car, an idea which didn't please Daphene at 
all. Then she wondered just how these girls became "fresh acquisitions." 

A girl was led up to the stage, every male, and one pair of female, eye in 
the place upon her. She was tall, with long blonde hair done up in a pony 
tail. She was wearing a white sheet draped over one shoulder. It fell to 
just above her knees. Daphene noted how pretty the girl, then realized, with 
a little start, that the girl was definitely American. A perfectly normal 
example of American teenage cheerleader type. The girl looked nervously 
around the room. She was placed next to the auctioneer in a place where 
several lights shown upon her. 

Daphene couldn't see the girl's figure too well with the sheet draped over 
her, but it seemed rather nice. 

"Bids?" said the auctioneer. The first bid was half-hearted but larger than 
Daphene would have expected. It was followed by a few more but the bidding 
wasn't spirited. 

"They're waiting until he uncovers the girl," whispered Brian. "Gotta see 
the merchandise, you know." 

The auctioneer obviously sensed that the serious bidding wouldn't start 
until, so he put his hand upon the sheet where it was fastened at her 
shoulder. The girl, realizing that he was about to disrobe her before a 
group of strange men, flashed a sudden look of fear across her pretty face 
and jerked away. The sheet, still in the hand of the man, came off as she 
stepped back to reveal her youthful nudity. Some appreciative oh's came from 
the audience. Daphene doubted that the girl was more than seventeen although 
her body was very, very nice, a flat tummy with slender hips and breasts big 
enough to go nicely with the shape. And wonderfully perky breasts they were, 
the nipples turning up slightly. 

The man who had brought her to the stage was suddenly beside her, both 
strong hands upon her arms. He led her back to the center of the stage and 
held her there for all to see. In the brief struggle Daphene realized that 
the girl's hands were handcuffed behind her back. 

Suddenly the girl broke her silence. "Please help me! I was kidnapped! 
Please call my parents. Call the police!" 

As the auctioneer held her, the guard forced her mouth open and inserted a 
curved metal bar. It was quickly strapped behind her head. Daphene winced. 
That gag looked very uncomfortable, like a horse's bit. It obviously held 
her jaw open because she couldn't close her teeth with a metal bar between 
them. And the curved part went farther back into the mouth, at least pushing 
the tongue down and perhaps pressing against the back of the mouth. It 
wouldn't be a comfortable gag to wear, thought Daphene as she contrasted it 
to her own. He's wasn't comfortable but at least it didn't have bare metal 
crammed between her teeth. 

The girl struggled a bit but was easily controlled by the strong guard. The 
auctioneer continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. With 
her body now in full view, the bidding grew more spirited and the amounts 
surprised Daphene. They were far larger than she had gone for in Greg's 
little auction. But then, she reminded herself, these men were buying the 
girl forever, not just a weekend. 

The teenager was weeping by the time the final bid had been made and her 
ownership changed hands. Daphene wanted very badly to ask questions of 
Brian, especially about how this girl had come to be at the slave auction. 
She hadn't given that much thought before, she just thought there were 
slavegirls. 

The second girl to be sold on the auction block was a black girl, also a 
teenager, also with very fine figure. That girl didn't make a fuss when the 
sheet was pulled from her. Daphene got the impression that if it hadn't been 
for the fact that she was being sold into slavery, this girl would have 
enjoyed showing off her fine body to these men. She went for almost the same 
amount of money as the first girl, and to the African. Daphene wondered at 
that, a black African buying a black American girl. For his harem? Did 
African's have harems like Arabians? 

The third girl was something else. She was young but a teenager as the first 
two. This girl was around twenty-four or twenty-five, very beautiful with 
long blonde hair hanging half way down her back. She didn't have the look of 
fear in her eyes as the other girls had. Instead she was defiant, a quiet 
defiance, not an angry, open one. When the sheet was taken from her to 
reveal a very good body, every line of her face and body said that she may 
be a prisoner but they couldn't break her spirit. 

Daphene wondered about that. She hadn't thought about it much but supposed 
that every girl had some point, some combination of treatment that would 
break her down. She made a note to talk to Brian about this. She hated the 
thought that this beautiful, proud woman might be reduced to a humble, 
obedient slavegirl. Yet it was an exciting thought somehow. 

Daphene stood next to Brian's seat at the back of the group. She sat on the 
edge of her chair next to Brian, and was very conscious of her nudity, and 
of the way her arms were totally secured behind her back. Along with the 
gag, it meant that she was under complete control of the man who had brought 
her. She had to sit and watch as three women who had been yanked from their 
lives were sold into a lifetime of slavery. She was filled with mixed 
feelings. She had enjoyed most of the slavery Greg had created for her. But 
there had been that night she was sold to a stranger for him to use. That 
had not been pleasant. But these girls obviously did not enjoy any of this. 
Even the whippings she had gotten from Greg had been a wonderful combination 
of pain and pleasure. But would the whippings these girls got be pure pain? 
Would they hate every minute of their enslavement? Daphene didn't know. 

After the last girl was led away, the lights came back up and most of the 
men retired to the bar for a last drink. A few left immediately, including 
those who's bids had been accepted for the girls. Daphene assumed they were 
going to make arrangements for payment. 

It had been interesting to watch those girls standing on the stage, it 
reminded her of the time she had been before a group of men, naked and 
tightly bound and gagged, with bidding going on for her body. She remembered 
both the thrill and the fear, and she wondered if these girls felt any 
thrill or burning in their loins. 

Once again Hasad was by their side, his eyes unable to leave Daphene's 
tightly secured body. "Brian, old friend, would you consider selling this 
one? If you're having trouble with her...." 

Daphene didn't like the leer in the Arab's eyes. Nor the suggestion he had 
made. 

"I don't think so, Hasad." 

"I would offer you a great deal of money. And I will promise you she will 
soon be well trained in the arts of pleasing a master." 

"Go on back to your harem and whip a couple of asses. You'll feel better." 

Hasad ignored the comment. He looked at Daphene's pointing breasts and rigid 
nipples and made a dollar offer that shocked Daphene at the size of it. 

For a long few moments Brian said nothing. Daphene squealed behind her gag. 
She was very, very much aware how helpless she was. With just a nod of his 
head, Brian could condemn her to a lifetime of slavery under this Arab who 
admitted he often whipped his slavegirls. She wanted to scream at Brian, to 
tell him that he dare not do that to her. But then she realized that he 
could easily do it. No one knew she was with him. If she disappeared, no one 
would call the police. She was totally helpless! 

An amused smile tugged at the corners of Brian's mouth and she feared that 
the same thoughts were running through his mind. And that was a great deal 
of money offered for her. 

"No, my friend. I think it unlikely I will ever find another girl to match 
this one. I will keep her." 

Daphene and Hasad both sighed, one in relief, the other in sadness. "Such it 
will be," Hasad said, shaking his head. "Well, I wish you much happiness 
with her. Do not forget to use the whip when she needs it. And sometimes 
when she does not. It is good for a slavegirl to be whipped." 

They shook hands once again and the Arab turned to go. At the door he turned 
back. "Don't forget, if you should ever change your mind...." 

Brian just smiled. Then he took a deep breath and placed a hand upon 
Daphene's arm. "Come on, there is something I want to show you." 

They left by the same door they had entered and returned to the underground 
garage. Over in the corner was an open door and they headed towards it. 
Inside the door was a large room where two of the girls just sold were being 
prepared for shipment to their new masters. The teenage girl who had made 
the outcry when she was stripped naked was being lowered into a box. Daphene 
shuttered as she saw how the girl had been bound up. First the girl was 
still naked. But the handcuffs on her wrists had been removed. The girl's 
legs had been bound together at the ankles and above the knees. Then her 
body had been bent so that her arms came together under her legs. The 
forearms had been tightly tied together so that her hands were next to the 
opposite elbows. She was being lowered into a square box only a tiny bit 
bigger than her body. They had to push her feet towards her bottom to make 
her fit. The bare wood box was such a snug fit that when the lowered the 
lid, the girl's head had to be pushed down against her knees to make it 
close. Two large padlocks were fitted into the hasps on the lid and she was 
ready for shipment. Daphene had noted the horse bit gag had been replaced by 
one quite similar to the one she wore. And that there were air holes in the 
box. 

"She'll be in that box about eight hours," Brian said casually. "Won't be 
comfortable." 

Daphene had to agree. The girl would be very uncomfortable, probably ready 
to scream by the end of eight hours. 

The other girl was the third girl, the defiant blonde. She was also being 
bound up for shipment and a box awaited her. But her bondage was different, 
as was the box. First off she was standing. Her legs had been bound together 
at the ankles and again above the knees. Her arms had been pulled up behind 
her back so that the wrists were together and up near her neck with the 
elbows touching but down in the middle of her back. Daphene didn't know that 
a girl's arms could be forced into that position. Rope secured the arms at 
the wrists and at the elbows. In addition, there was a leather collar around 
her neck and her wrists were tied to a ring in the back of that. She was 
being gagged with a gag similar to the one Daphene wore. For a second her 
eyes meet and held Daphene's. But Daphene was not sure what communication 
they were exchanging. Obviously this newly sold slavegirl was aware that 
Daphene was naked and bound up as a slavegirl herself. Was it sympathy in 
those blue eyes? Or defiance even for another slavegirl? 

The blonde was then picked up by two men and lowered into the rectangular 
box awaiting her. The size and shape was almost identical to her body and it 
was -lined with some kind of padding that formed a mold just fitting the 
girl's body. Daphene wondered how they happen to have such a mold ready. Or 
did had they just made it before she came? 

There were straps attached to the box that went over the girl's body, 
holding it tight down in six places. When the lid was placed on and locked 
solidly, Daphene knew that this girl would not be able to move an inch. 
There were air holes at either side of her head, but Daphene wondered how 
terribly helpless that girl must feel. A delicious shiver raced down her 
spine. 

"This one will only be in there for about four hours," Brian informed. "But 
she's going to a man who will break her spirit. That's why he bought her. 
After he's broken a girl, he tires of her and the trained girl winds up back 
here to be sold again." 

Daphene wished the gag were not filling her mouth. There were questions she 
wanted to ask. 

Brain led her out of the room and towards their waiting limo. Charles was 
standing beside the car. Just as he opened the door, some sound made Daphene 
turn around. The African prince and his newly purchased slave were 
proceeding towards another of the cars. The girl was dressed, which 
surprised Daphene. She wore an almost skintight dress of scarlet that made 
it obvious she wore no bra or panties. Her wrists were still handcuffed 
behind her back but she wore no gag and no other form of restraint. She was 
assisted into the back seat of another limo and the car immediately 
departed. 

Inside their car, Daphene made sound through nose that she wanted to have 
the gag removed. Brain shook his head and placed the blindfold over her 
eyes. They drove for half an hour with Daphene silent and sightless before 
he removed the blindfold and gag. Daphene blinked at the afternoon sunlight 
even though it was filtered through the darkened windows. She worked her jaw 
round to get it back to feeling half way normal. 

"Well," she said when her mouth would work, "that was certainly 
interesting." Brian remained silent but was looking at her. Daphene got the 
feeling he was waiting for her reactions. 

"Those girls ... They were kidnapped?" 

"What did you expect? Girls don't walk in and ask to become slaves for the 
rest of their lives." 

Daphene didn't comment about that being pretty much was she had been 
considering doing The slavery would be with Greg but she had the feeling 
that had she not escaped the slavery would have been total very quickly. 

"So that whole thing was illegal?" 

"Of course it was. Why do you think I blindfolded you? There's no way you 
could find your way back there. Is there?" 

"No." 

"Those girls are really going to be shipped to other countries where they 
will be kept prisoner for the rest of their lives." 

"What will be done to them?" 

"That first girl is going to a small country in Central America. The man who 
bought her was just an agent for that country's dictator. She will be kept 
in a cell in the basement of the Presidential Palace. He will screw her 
whenever he feels like it, and whip her when the feeling strikes him. After 
about a year he will tire of her and give her to one of his generals. Or 
perhaps sell her. He hates Americans and enjoys taking out his anger on 
pretty American teenagers." 

Daphene shuttered. "Why was that black girl being taken to the car? 
Shouldn't she have been packed up for shipment to Africa?" 

Brian laughed. "Malcom Xavier Washington is no African prince or anything 
else authentic. He's a famous rock star. Or rap star, I should say to be 
accurate. He just likes to dress the part of his African ancestors. In 
twenty minutes that girl will be in the bedroom of his lavish Beverly Hills 
estate naked and on her hands and knees on the floor. He'll be leading her 
around like a dog, even making her bark. He'll be carrying a riding crop to 
give her encouragement. And he'll be calling her his "little bitch." It's 
his thing." 

Daphene frowned. "And the third girl? That beautiful blonde?" 

Brian sighed. "She will be shipped to Canada and eventually on to France. 
She has been bought by an agent of Henri de Ville. He owns a magnificent 
chateau. Also a magnificent dungeon where her screams will never be heard 
outside the walls. He enjoys whipping a girl until there is very little skin 
on her whole body that is unmarked. He also enjoys inviting business 
associates over to have them whip his slaves and enjoy their bodies any way 
they want." 

Daphene was silent, partly out of shock, partly as she tried to digest this 
information. "My shoulders and pussy hurt a lot," she finally said. "Could I 
be untied from this thing?" 

Brian smiled. "I like it on you. You can wear it a while longer." 

Daphene didn't object. She also liked the metal device that held her arms so 
tightly. If only that chain through her pussy didn't cut into her soft flesh 
so. 

"Well, I guess I should say thanks. I mean for showing me the auction. It 
was different than what I expected. Well, sort of what I expected. I was 
sold by Greg at a little auction, I told you about that." 

"You wanted to know about real slavegirls." 

"And ... And thank you for not selling me to that Arab. He was serious, 
wasn't he?" 

"Very serious." 

"Well, thank you. You didn't really consider it, did you?" 

Brian smiled. "I considered it for a second. Then I decided that if I were 
to condemn you to a lifetime of slavery, I would rather keep you myself." 

Daphene swallowed hard. It was flattering and she felt a warmth for this 
man. 

"We'll be back in an hour. How do you feel about being a slavegirl?" 

"I...." Daphene had to stop. What did she really feel? She had wanted to 
figure out in her own mind whether she wanted to be a slave to Greg. Or if 
what he was forcing her into was not for her. "I don't think I would like to 
be shipped off to what you described for those girls. Well, maybe crawling 
around on all fours in a Beverly Hills estate wouldn't be too bad. But the 
rest do not sound very nice." 

"Hasad was not kidding when he told you he whips his slavegirls. He believes 
it makes them more obedient and improves their sexual responses. There is a 
Arabian belief that a whipped woman is much sexier and more fun in bed than 
one not marked up." 

Daphene didn't tell him that she felt the same way. There was something 
about the intensity of feeling that comes with the whip that adds to the 
intensity of feeling from sex. 

"Crawling around on all fours wouldn't be the worst part. He also uses his 
'bitches' to satisfy his sexual lust." 

"What's wrong with that?" 

"He uses their rear entrance, not the front." It took Daphene a few seconds 
to realize what Brian was telling her. "Doesn't that hurt?" 

"Depends on the girl and how relaxed she is. It can hurt. But that's not 
all. Inside of two months, three at the outside, she will be back at The 
Club, being sold again. He really only rents the girls." 

"Oh." Daphene paused to shift her weight, trying without success to find a 
way to ease the pressure of the chain between her legs. "But wouldn't 
slavery be different with a man you love? I mean, if you really loved the 
man to begin with?" 

Brian said nothing for a long time. When he replied, it was with a frown. 
"Don't forget you ran away from that man. Ask yourself why you did that." 

Daphene was silent for the rest of the trip back to the yacht, lost in her 
own thoughts and trying to examine her inner feelings. 

That night she slept next to Brian with only her wrists crossed and tied 
behind her back. Their lovemaking had been slow and unhurried. And very nice 
although not in the intense way that comes when her bottom is burning from a 
fresh whipping. 

 CHAPTER NINE - A Lifetime of Slavery 

Daphene awoke with the sun streaming through the port hold window and 
warming her thigh. She turned lazily over and noted that her wrists were 
still crossed and bound behind her back. That did not bother her. In fact, 
it felt good. She stretched her legs out and noted that Brian was not in the 
bed. 

For a while she did not leave the bed, did not go in search of Charles for 
breakfast, or to seek Brian. She was content to lay there and consider those 
things she had seen the day before. 

There really were slavegirls, bought and sold through an underground 
catering to men of wealth and such tastes. Those girls were held against 
their wills, keep in bondage and chains, made to do what their masters 
willed regardless whether it was their will or not. And she remembered 
something else Brian had told her after they returned to the yacht. When a 
slavegirl no longer interests her master, she is sold, often to a brothel 
where she will work daily for her new masters. And when a girl in a brothel 
no longer interests the customers, she is either disposed of or sold yet 
again, but this time as a low cost kitchen servant or some such thing. 
Daphene had asked what "disposed of meant and was frightened to find out 
that it meant just what it sounded like -a midnight swim in the ocean with 
heavy chains around her ankles. Or an unmarked grave in a lonely place. She 
had argued with Brian that no one would just kill a girl because she wasn't 
so attractive any more. But he calmly told her that a slavegirl who could 
talk to the police or other authorities in those countries where slavery was 
illegal had to be keep silent. Those who bought and sold these girls, and 
their owners, couldn't afford to have them escape. They made sure the girl 
would never talk to anyone. But then he went on to describe how most 
slavegirls in those countries were it was legal or at least tolerated could 
expect to be taken care of, even as they grew old. They simply no longer 
went to their master's beds, the worked in the kitchen or around the house. 

It was a lot to think about. But she keep telling herself that slavery with 
Greg would be different. He might occasionally give her to other men but he 
would never sell her totally to a brothel. And he would certainly never 
dispose of her in a violent way. She thought of slavery to Greg as a sort of 
unusual marriage -very strange by most people's standards but logical and 
acceptable to them. She would be keep bound or chained up all the time. She 
would be whipped by Greg when she was bad, and perhaps sometimes when she 
wasn't. And, if he really wanted it, she would be given to other men. If 
they only bound her up and whipped her, fine. If they raped her ... Well, it 
would be one way of pleasing her master. Besides, maybe if he really 
understand how she felt about it, he wouldn't let it happen again. 

With her mind in less confusion than it had been since she cut her bonds and 
ran away from Greg, Daphene slithered out of bed and went in search of 
Charles. 

Breakfast was good and Charles fed it to Daphene. He had not offered to 
untie her hands and she hadn't asked him to. Afterwards she wandered into 
the bath and drew herself a large tub full of scented bubbles and warm 
water. She hardly gave it a thought that her hands were bound behind her 
back, she was used to doing things that way. Turning on the water and 
pouring bath oil beads and bubble bath into the rub was no problem. She even 
managed to dry herself off afterwards pretty well by rubbing her body 
against the towel on its rack. 

And the little wetness she missed wouldn't matter, she was not planning to 
get dressed. 

That afternoon Brian came home early. He greeted Daphene with a kiss and she 
responded by rubbing her bare breasts against his suit. Later, he told her 
with a playful swat on her behind. A little later he called her into the 
bedroom and told her of the plans for that night. 

"I'm going to take you to visit a friend of mine," he informed. "This will 
be another part of your learning about our strange lifestyle. Another side 
of it, you might say." 

"Who is this? What will be happening? Come on, you can tell me," she teased 
him. Then she pouted, "If you think I won't go, then you can just keep my 
hands tied. I'll have to go!" 

It was like a game to her and she actually enjoyed the idea of being 
introduced to something new, something that she might like. And if she 
didn't, she won't be able to do anything about it. That's one of the 
wonderful things about being a slavegirl, she told herself, there is so 
little decision making to do. Except that a part of her mind reminded her 
that she still had to make her final decision about Greg. But she had an 
excuse to put that off. She would see what Brian had planned for this 
evening. There would be enough time tomorrow for decisions. 

Dinner was served by Charles in the main lounge. Daphene remained naked and 
with her wrists still bound behind her back. She enjoyed being waited upon 
by Charles, fed each bite and having her glass held up to her lips. After 
dinner Brian took her to the bedroom and dressed her for the evening. 

They drove down the coast from Newport Beach and then turned inland into 
some low mountains with winding roads and many homes on the ocean side. On 
the other side there were only a few homes and the one they drove up to was 
almost hidden in a canyon. The sun had already set and a beautiful array of 
stars greeted them as she exited the vehicle. The house was quite large and 
fashioned after a French chateau. They were met at the front door by a woman 
wearing only a pair of panties and high heels. The panties were very brief 
and -lined with lace. They accented the woman's hips nicely. Her wrists were 
locked in handcuffs before her and her ankles joined by leg irons. 

"You are expected, Master Brian. Please come this way," she said. 

They followed her shuffling steps to a lounge at the back side of the house. 
All of one wall gave view to a magnificent swimming pool with rock 
waterfall. The falling water was lit from behind by reddish lights and more 
lights had turned the pool water into a green shape like clear sea water. 

A man rose to greet them. "Ah, Brian, good to see you. And this must be 
Daphene. Oh, Brian, she as beautiful as you said." 

The man unashamedly gave Daphene a good looking over. She straighten up a 
bit and was proud that this man found her attractive. Most any man would 
been panting over Daphene that evening. She wore her electric blue silky 
dress that clung to her body in ways that looked impossible. Matching high 
heels and no underwear finished the clothing part of her dress for that 
night. Her wrists were still crossed and bound behind her back. As he 
inspected her, Brian introduced him as Gary. Then he introduced the chained 
girl as Gary's slavegirl, Marsha. Marsha bowed to Brian and Daphene. 

"Actually," interjected Gary, "Marsha is my wife. We were married a couple 
of years ago. Simply a formality so she will get the property when I die. 
She was my slave for ten years before that and she continues to be my 
slavegirl." 

"Full time?" asked Daphene, taking another look at the chained girl. "You 
must have ... Enslaved her right out of high school. Is 'enslaved' the right 
word for your making her your slave?" 

"Good as any, dear. And, yes, she was only eighteen when I got her." 

"At the slave auction?" Gary gave Brian a hard look. "What does she know 
about The Club?" 

"I took her there. Just to show her it was for real." 

"But why, man? You know The Club is open for tourists. 

I'm surprised they let you in with her." 

"Mark owed me a favor. I wanted her to see that slavery was very real." 

Gray huffed. "Well, it is. But, no, I did not buy Marsha. Actually she was 
delivering pizza to my door when I first saw her." He grinned. "I asked her 
out for dinner and she accepted. A couple months later she moved in with me. 
A few months after that she was being keep in chains full time, and has been 
every since." 

Daphene watched Marsha's face as this story was told. She could see no 
reaction to indicate that the girl disagreed with what the man said. 

"She's keep chained all the time? Even when she sleeps?" 

"Yes. Of course. She's a slavegirl." 

"And she obeys your every command?" 

"Of course." Daphene paused before she asked the next question. She wasn't 
sure it was proper. "And do you whip her?" 

"Sometimes. Used to do it more but we found a way to punish her that is more 
effective. For her, at least it is. But whipping a slavegirl is simply a 
part of her life. If she needs it, she's whipped." 

"Would Marsha run away if she had the chance?" 

"I doubt it. But she's never given a chance so the question hasn't come up." 
Gary seemed very proud of his slavegirl. And Marsha smiled back as if she 
were proud of being a good slavegirl. 

"Perhaps...." interjected Brian at that point, "a little demonstration...?" 

"Quite right! Come alone. To the dungeon." Gary led them all out of the 
lounge and down some stairs. Daphene wondered to herself why all dungeons 
were downstairs. But a dungeon upstairs wouldn't seem right, she decided. 

The basement was huge and contained a few torture instruments but nowhere 
near all the space was taken up by them. There was a pillory and set of 
stocks in one corner and what looked like an X shaped cross against one 
wall. Several types of whips hung from another and there was a chest of 
drawers beside them. 

"Slave!" commanded Gary and Marsh shuffled up to stand before him. She knelt 
down until she was sitting on her legs with them folded under her. She keep 
her back straight and her hands in her lap. Her head was bowed. "I call this 
the slave position. She's been taught to assume it at the command word, 
'slave'. Now watch. Marsha, riding crop." 

Without a word the woman stood up and went to the wall to fetch the riding 
crop. When she returned it to her master, he held it out in both hands tike 
an offering. Her face was turned humbly down, her eyes avoiding those of her 
master. 

"Turn around and bend over." Marsha did as told, bending way over so that 
her bottom stuck up and presented a perfect target. The crop slashed four 
time in rapid succession across the bare skin, two from each direction. The 
girl whined a bit but did not more from her position nor utter any other 
sounds. Daphene could see the red welts forming on the bare skin and knew 
that they must hurt something terribly. 

"Brian, perhaps you'd like to get Daphene ready for the next part of the 
demonstration?" 

Suddenly one of Brain's hands was on her arm and the other unhooking her 
dress. So tightly did the garment cling that he had to use both hands to 
pull it down. Then she was walked over to the X shaped cross in the wall. 
Daphene could see that the cross was away from the wall by a couple inches, 
apparently joined to it only at the center of the X. Her hands were untied 
and she was backed against the cross. A leather strap went around her 
stomach and was buckled tightly down. Her arms were lifted above her head 
one by one and strapped to the upper arms of the cross at the wrists and 
above the elbows. The her legs were strapped to the lower arms so that her 
weight was completely off the floor. The straps cut in but weren't too bad. 
She hoped that she looked pretty for her audience. . 

Suddenly there was a hum behind her and the whole room begin tilting to the 
left. A second later she realized that the cross was rotating, not the room. 
Slowly she was tilted to the side then downwards. The cross stopped with her 
head hanging straight down. 

"Wow, this is strange," she told them. "You're all standing on the ceiling!" 

"Marsha," Gary commanded, "service Daphene." Daphene frowned. Service her? 
Did that mean...? Daphene heard the clink of Marsha's leg irons as she 
shuffled up to her. Then the slavegirl's legs were before Daphene's eyes. 
Suddenly a tongue invaded her sex and she knew that service meant what she 
thought it did. 

"Hey, I'm not a lesbian!" she protested. "I've never done this." 

"Don't worry, Marsha has," assured Gary. "But I don't want another woman to 
... Whoa! Oh! Please don't do that. Oh...." 

With an expert tongue, Marsha began slowly licking and sucking at Daphene's 
private place. It was easy. The inverted girl was at the perfect height for 
it and her legs were spread wide apart by the cross. And she could do 
nothing to stop it. 

"Oh! That's nice! I mean, that's terrible. Please stop. I don't want to 
climax like this." 

"You lie," said Brian gently. "It will feel good and you'll enjoy it. And 
we'll enjoy watching you." 

"Oh, Brian, you're a rat! Oh, that's nice. Stop it." Both men watched in 
interest as one bound slavegirl lavished oral attention upon another. 
Daphene tried at first to keep her body from responding, to not give into 
the delightful sensations racing through her sex. But this girl was too 
good, she knew what she was doing. And Daphene had already been "warmed up" 
by being naked and bound to that cross. It wasn't long before Daphene was 
gasping and trying to bang her hips against the wooden cross. Her eyes were 
closed and the delightful little sounds coming from her told all too well a 
story of one woman rapidly rising to a climax. Just as Daphene was about to 
explode, Gary barked an order and Marsha's tongue disappeared. 

"Who? What? Oh, damn it!" cried Daphene. "Please finish me. Oh, I want to 
touch myself so much. Please...?" 

"Just a demonstration, my dear. Marsha will do anything I order her to do." 

"Well, order her to finish what she started. Oh, damn!" 

"All in good time, my dear. You look lovely hanging upside down like that. 
Did I tell you that?" 

"Oh, no. No, you didn't tell me. Thank you." Gary was grinning. So was 
Brian. The only one not grinning was Daphene who was frowning with the 
frustration. And Marsha who looked hungry to finish the job. For a few 
seconds the men watched Daphene's upturned pussy quivering in desire. "Shall 
we?" asked Gary. "Might as well," replied Brian casually. "Finish," ordered 
Gary. 

Marsha's mouth was immediately on Daphene's sex. In less than half a minute 
the inverted nudity was gasping in ecstasy and her whole body had gone 
rigid. A minute later she eased off but was still trembling when they 
rotated her back to an upright position. They left her strapped to the 
cross. 

Daphene slowly came back to reality. She hadn't known that another girl 
could create such wonderful feelings in her sex. It was ... Well, it was 
very nice. 

When she finally opened her eyes, Marsha had been bound across the room and 
both men were standing to one side, talking. Daphene looked at Gary's 
slavegirl and sucked in a little breath. That little pair of panties were 
gone and she had been bound suspended completely off the floor. Her hands 
were together above her head. But her legs were wide spread, impossibly wide 
it seemed to Daphene, and bound to rings in the opposite walls. From the way 
she hung her head, Daphene wondered how long she had been recovering from 
her orgasm. 

"Ah, you're back with us," said Gary. "Could have thrown a bucket of ice 
water over you. That brings a girl back real fast, I can tell you. But we 
let you enjoy your little pleasure." 

"Thank you," Daphene managed. "Isn't Marsha hurting, tied like that?" 

"Of course, she is. Suppose to, you know." Both men began the task of 
unstrapping Daphene and soon she was standing on her feet. Gary locked 
handcuffs on her wrists in front of her and they led her over to where 
Marsha hung in midair. Daphene could see how the ropes were cutting into the 
flesh of her wrists and ankles and felt sorry for the girl. 

"You will notice how wide spread her legs are," Gary said. "Perfect for 
whipping her cunt. Wouldn't you say?" 

Daphene sucked in air. "That would hurt her terribly." 

"Of course. Slavegirl are punished whenever and however their Master's 
wishes. Right?" 

"Yes, sir," Daphene managed to get out. She remembered the feeling of the 
small whip coming up between her legs and setting her cunt on fire. 

"Observe." Gary selected a leather strap, not too wide, from the wall. He 
stood before Marsha's bound form. "I wish to cause you pain, slave. Do you 
wish me to whip your pussy?" 

"Yes, Master. Please whip my pussy." Gary brought the whip up squarely 
between her legs and was rewarded by a scream that echoed off the walls and 
startled Daphene. The hanging girl's body jerked wildly within it's bonds. 
The scream was followed by gasps of pain. 

"Slave." 

"Yes, Master?" 

"We are not finished." 

"Please, Master, whip my pussy." 

Again the leather strap impacted with her wide open sex and again the girl 
screamed. When she was panting only, her master again told her that they 
were not finished, and again the tortured girl asked her master to whip her 
pussy. 

Daphene shuttered, and was sure that this was causing Marsha far more pain 
than the little whip Greg had used. 

"This could go on all night," Gary pointed out directly to Daphene. "So long 
as Marsha has a breath left in her body, she will ask me to whip her pussy. 
She's a slavegirl." 

The statement made Daphene realize that all this torture of Marsha and even 
the forcing her to perform oral sex on Daphene had all been a demonstration 
to teach Daphene the true meaning of what a slavegirl is. 

"I believe you," she told Gary. "She must love you." 

"Of course she does. All slavegirls love their masters. If not, he whips it 
into them!" The last sentence led to a laugh. But Daphene was not so sure it 
was a joke. She remembered how much she had loved Greg after he had caused 
incredible pain in her breasts and pussy. 

"Take the whip," Gary said, offering it to her. Daphene took it with a 
handcuffed wrists but didn't want what she was sure was coming next. 

"Whip Marsha with it. Squarely up between the legs and as hard as you can." 

"I don't think I can do that," Daphene muttered. "Marsha?" prompted Gary. 
Marsha opened her eyes and looked directly at Daphene. 

"Please, Daphene, whip my pussy. My Master wants me to be in pain. Please 
whip me as hard as you can." 

The plea was heart-tugging. Daphene swallowed and brought the strap up 
between the bound legs. The sound that followed wasn't nearly as loud as 
Gary's strokes had been. And it was not followed by more than a gasp. 

"Daphene," said Marsha, "please whip me harder. As hard as you can. Make me 
scream." 

Daphene stood there staring at this tortured girl begging her for more pain. 
With all her might she brought the strap up again and was rewarded with a 
scream. Both girls were panting after that. 

Brian gently took the whip from Daphene's hand after the fifth upward slash 
had brought a cry of pain from Marsha. "Bend over," he told her. "Feet 
together and hold your ankles." 

For a second Daphene didn't see to register what Brian was saying. Then she 
slowly bent over to assume the position told her. The leather cracked across 
her bottom and she screamed. Suddenly she was laying on the floor, trying to 
grab her burning bottom with chained hands. How could Marsha stand such pain 
right across her pussy, she wondered as she returned to this world. It's 
terrible! 

Daphene crawled up to her feet and over to kneel between Marsha's wide 
spread legs. Using her chained hands as best she could, she spread Marsha's 
vagina lips and began licking. She repeated what Marsha had done to her as 
best she could. Soon the hanging girl was moaning and thrusting her hips 
forward to meet Daphene's mouth. A minute after that she screamed again but 
this time a scream of pleasure as a massive orgasm racked her nudity. 

"Very impressive," commented Gary in a hushed voice. "That's quite a girl 
you've got there." 

"So Marsha lives in total restraints and total obedience to Gary," Daphene 
said over breakfast the next morning. Her wrists were handcuffed before her 
which presented no problem in eating or drinking. 

"For many years." 

"And she's happy?" 

"You saw her. Some women find happiness in complete submission to a man. 
Marsha is one of those." 

Daphene thought about it. It made sense to her. "And if he had told her to 
lay down and spread her legs for you to screw her?" 

"She would have done it. No questions about that." 

"I see." Daphene did see. If you really love a man you should be willing to 
do anything for him. Anything. Looking back at her relationship with Greg, 
she realized that the only unhappiness came from her objection to his giving 
her to another man for sex. Well, there were a lot of men who were in on the 
secret of binding and whipping women. Undoubtedly Greg knew many of them. 
And some were very nice people. Brian certainly was. And Bill had been nice. 
Well, he did torture her but that was no worse than Greg had done, just 
different. She actually remembered the tiny cage and being bound to that 
chair for half a day with fondness. It had been an experience. 

"Brian," she began seriously, "would you be upset if I were to leave you?" 

"Yes, I would be unhappy. But I wouldn't try to stop you. 

Beyond asking you if you wouldn't rather stay, of course. I like you a lot." 

"I like you, too, Brian. You've been kind to me. Even when whipping my 
bottom, you're ... Well, kind." 

Brian smiled at her. "Whatever will make you happy. Some girls are happy as 
complete slavegirls. Some enjoy being slavegirls only part of the time. And 
some could never take it. Have you decided which you are?" 

Daphene nodded. "Yes, I have. But you're not looking for a full time 
slavegirl, are you?" 

"No." He sighed. "Although you have tempted me. It would have been easy to 
keep you in restrictions all the time and simply not let you go. Even those 
handcuffs you have on right now would be enough to stop you from running 
away. But I'm not like that. I could easily, and enjoyable, keep you a 
prisoner for, say, three weeks of the month. But on the forth week, I'd 
unlock the chains and let you roam free. Go shopping, take a trip, just walk 
around the harbor. But you'd be free for one week in three. I just wouldn't 
feel right keeping you, or any girl, a complete slave. I understand how some 
men feel but I'm not like that. Sorry." 

"Don't apologize. You're a very nice man. And you do know how to make a girl 
feel like a slavegirl. And thank you for your help." 

Brian sighed. He reached across the table and took her linked wrists in his 
hands. The tiny key did it's thing and her lovely shinning wristlets were 
laying on the table. Daphene looked at them, realizing that with that 
gesture Brian was letting her go, giving her complete freedom. She leaned 
over the table and give him a gentle kiss. Then they both laughed because 
she had gotten jelly on her breast from leaning too close to her breakfast. 

The day was lovely. Just a few wispy high clouds and plenty of California 
sunshine. Daphene, now dressed in respectable if somewhat uncomfortable 
clothing, boarded her flight in midmorning and was in a taxi heading towards 
Greg's house that night. The city she was used to was covered by a thick 
layer of clouds and the air was extremely humid. But she was looking forward 
to getting home and throwing off these clothes to accepting Greg's ropes 
again. It would make her life feel normal again. 

The cab dropped her off at the driveway and she hurried up the walk. Greg 
answered the door and stood there with mouth hanging open at the sight of 
the smiling and radiant Daphene. "Well, aren't you going to ask me in?" 

Greg stood aside to allow her in. "Well," was all he could say. Daphene 
dropped her suitcase inside the door and headed towards the lounge. Once 
there she tossed off the dress and let it land on a chair. As usual for her, 
there was no underwear to worry about. She kicked off her shoes to stand 
there gloriously naked and smiling at Greg. 

"I had to do some thinking, darling. And I'm ready to be your slavegirl 
again. But first, would you please tie my hands or handcuff me or 
something?" 

Greg grinned and fetched some rope. "Sure, sweetheart, sure." He bound her 
hands behind her back, tightening down the ropes with unnecessary force. 

Daphene sighed. "I had to work it out in my mind," she continued once the 
final knot was tied. "I'm ready to be your total slavegirl. Full time. 
Completely." 

"Completely?" he inquired. "You ran away because of my letting Bill screw 
you, right?" 

"Yes. That was the reason." 

"And what if I were to give you to him again? Or some other man? And what if 
I were to tell that person that he should screw you day and night until you 
beg him to stop?" 

"I would obey, Master." Daphene dropped to her knees and said it with a 
bowed head. "I am your slavegirl. You own me." 

"Good. We'll see about your punishment for escaping," he uttered happily, 
warming to his subject. "A whipping, of course." Daphene felt a tingle of 
excitement at that word. "And some other punishments. Escaping is a very 
serious offense for a slavegirl." 

"Yes, Master." 

"And how did you manage to escape? 

You've never been able to free yourself from my ropes before." 

"I used your shaving razor to cut the ropes, Master." 

"Ahhh! I was wondering how you did it. Well, you won't do that again. And 
you'll pay for having done it the first time. Remember that little whip I 
used to whip your pussy and breasts?" 

"Yes, Master." 

"You will be very sore. And there will be other things...." Greg's sentence 
trailed off at the sound of chains clinking. 

Through the doorway that led to the bedrooms came a sight that made 
Daphene's heart leap to her throat. A girl who Daphene recognized as the 
French Mistress Denise Allaire was leading in another woman who was chained 
up completely. Denise was dressed in a form-filling jumpsuit of midnight 
black with high heeled boots and metal studs on the belt. The other girl was 
completely naked save for the chains she wore, and the gag that covered her 
mouth. She was very beautiful and looked to be a couple years younger than 
Daphene. Her hands were linked by handcuffs behind her back, and her ankles 
bore a set of leg irons. But there was also a second pair of handcuffs 
linking her elbows behind her, and additional chain around her tummy, very 
tightly applied and cutting rather deeply into her curves. And another chain 
ran from the collar around her neck to the waist chain and then down to the 
middle link between her ankles. Daphene recognized with a start that the 
collar around this girl's neck was the same on she had worn most nights 
while in bed with Greg. 

"Oh, what have we here?" purred Denise at the sight of a naked and bound 
Daphene kneeling on the floor. One French eyebrow rose in question. 

"She came back. Ah, Daphene ... I'd like you to meet Cathy. She can't talk, 
of course. She's being trained." Greg was grinning like a cat with two 
canaries. "Just as you will. I've decided that we were just playing around 
before. Now you'll be properly trained to be a slavegirl. And you'll have 
company!" He seemed delighted that there would be two slavegirls around the 
place. 

Daphene was not delighted. "But, Greg...." Her protest was cut off by Greg's 
curt order to Denise, "Gag her." 

The French mistress quickly fetched one of those horrid devices of rubber 
and leather, and between her and Greg forced the rubber wad into a 
struggling Daphene's mouth. Daphene's ankles were also bound together to 
stop her kicking. As Greg stood over the naked and bound girl, he gloated, 
"Didn't expect that I would replace you so quickly, huh? Well, I did. And 
now you'll be slavegirl number two. You blew your change, sweetheart. I 
would have be content with just you. And Denise, of course. I was going to 
bring her back into the picture in a few days anyway. But you'd be 
constantly keep in restraints by then so you'd have nothing to say about 
Denise being your mistress during the days while I'm gone." 

Denise slithered over to stand beside Greg. She put one arm around Greg and 
kissed him, a kiss he returned with far too much passion for Daphene. Laying 
on the floor, she wanted to cry. ., . 

"Well, you'll get your wish. You'll be a full time slavegirl, alright. And 
you'll never escape again, I promise that." 

Then he picked Daphene up and carried her to the bedroom where she was 
dumped on the bed. He slid her half off the edge of the bed so that she was 
on her knees with the top half of her laying on her breasts on the bed. Then 
he dropped his pants and took her from the back side, hard, fast and with 
little concern for her comfort or enjoyment. It hurt the bound girl as he 
forced his stiff penis into her vagina. With much banging of his hips 
against hers, he ravished Daphene until, with a massive sigh, he climaxed 
and shot his load into her. Quickly finished, he pulled out, leaving the 
shocked Daphene laying there for the first time in her life having gotten no 
satisfaction from the sex act. For a long time she lay half on and half off 
the bed, crying out her pain. 

Denise was the first to return. She moved Daphene around to the end of the 
bed and tied ropes to her elbows and the corner posts so that she was held 
kneeling at the end of the bed and facing inward. A little while later Greg 
returned, leading the chained Cathy. The chains were taken off the young 
girl and her arms bound tightly behind her back with the elbows crushed 
together. Then she was pushed down to the bed and her legs tied wide apart 
in a position Daphene remembered well. She found herself staring directly 
into the still gagged girl's open pussy, a view she really didn't want to 
see. 

Suddenly there was a cracking noise and her bottom exploded into fire. A 
second slash across the bare bottom came almost immediately. Daphene gasped 
and turned to see Denise standing there with whip in hand, grinning 
delightedly. "So fine, it is to see the red marks forming, no?" 

Daphene groaned. But her torment was not at an end. Greg was crawling onto 
the bed, naked as a jaybird, and with penis at full attention and pointed 
right at the girl laying on her bound arms. Daphene watched in shocked 
fascination as he crawled up between her legs and savagely thrust his tool 
into waiting pussy. Daphene felt a terrible hurt inside her. But it was 
wiped out by the sudden pain in her bottom. Denise was again lashing that 
terrible whip across her defenseless bottom. Daphene screamed into the gag 
and screamed again as the whip again cut a line of red across her flesh. 

All during the whipping which followed, Daphene kept her eyes opened and 
watching as her master screwed his number one slavegirl with a passion and 
vigor Daphene had always thought was reserved for her alone. As the fiery 
slashes cut and burned her bottom, she jerked and struggled uselessly 
against the ropes that held her. The final stroke came a little while after 
Greg reached his climax. "Oh, damn, but that's good!" he cried out loud. 
Daphene was glistening in pain sweat and sobbing. 

Cathy was untied and chained to the bed by her collar. Daphene was let tied 
there until after she witnessed Greg settle into position next to his 
adoring slavegirl Cathy. They put their arms around each other and pressed 
their bodies close together. Daphene wanted to cry again but the tears would 
not come. 

She was finally untied from the bed by Denise. A chain was locked around her 
neck and the other end padlocked to the bed. She was then left alone and the 
lights lowered. Daphene settled herself on the carpet as comfortably as she 
could considering the bound hands and feet, and the burning bottom. Outside 
she heard distant thunder crashing around the city. 

Daphene was awaken from a troubled sleep by Denise unlocking he chain from 
her neck. The French mistress then removed the gag, leaving a Daphene who 
could still not speak for many minutes as her aching jaw tried to return to 
normal. But it mattered little as she found there was nothing she wanted to 
say to Denise. When she sat up, she saw that the bed was empty. 

"The Master Greg, he is gone for the day. The slave Cathy, she is enjoying 
what you call the hogtie in the den. Soon I will go and place her on what 
you say is "The Horse.' She will not like riding the horse all day but it 
will make her understand what it is to be a slavegirl, no? I think perhaps 
tomorrow I will put you on the horse. It will be fun, no?" 

Daphene did not answer. Denise didn't seem to notice as she untied her 
ankles. Then she suggest that Daphene go to the bathroom that she might get 
ready for breakfast. Daphene obeyed. When she was finished, Denise again 
bound her ankles together and told her it was just to keep her from running 
around while Denise went to fix Cathy up on the horse. But she didn't chain 
Daphene's neck to the bed again and, as soon as Denise was gone, Daphene 
rose to her feet and hopped into the bathroom. 

She was disappointed to see that Greg's shaving razor was missing from the 
sink, replaced by an electric shaver. She considered trying it on the ropes 
but decided that it wouldn't work. And it would make noise. She opened the 
small drawer next to the sink and scanned the contents, searching for 
something that would cut ropes. Then she saw it -a small black leather case. 
Quickly she turned her back and with bound wrists used her hands to open the 
case. By feel she found what she wanted. It was a pair of toenail clippers, 
not much but a tool designed to cut through something harder than ropes. She 
shut the drawer and hurried back to the bed to sit down. 

It wasn't easy to reach her fingers around to the ropes, but she did. A tiny 
bit at a time, the clippers bit into the ropes. Daphene hurried, wondering 
all the while how long it would take Denise to untie Cathy from a hogtie and 
retie her on the horse, which she remembered from someplace as a either a 
wooden board or the edge of a wooden plank on which the unfortunate girl had 
to sit, all her weight pushing the wood into her pussy. Her legs were 
usually tied out to the sides and her arms behind her and up where they 
couldn't reach down and take any of the weight off the wood. It would not be 
pleasant to have to sit on a wooden edge all day, she was sure. 

After what seemed like an eternity, a rope parted and that one proved to be 
the key. The rest of the ropes were easy to pull off. Her wrists bore deep 
red marks as she pulled her hands around in front of her but she ignored 
them as she fumbled with the knot on her ankles. Expecting Denise to return 
any second, Daphene tore at the ropes binding her ankles. When her ankles 
were finally freed she leapt to her feet and hurriedly looked around for 
something to use as a weapon. She saw her suitcase sitting by the closet and 
wondered if she had time to take some clothes out of it and dress. Then she 
could make a run for freedom. She had just reached suitcase when she heard a 
sound behind her. 

"What!" was the only word Denise could get out before Daphene swung around 
with the suitcase in both hands. The leather case caught the French girl 
full in the face. The startled girl was thrown back against the wall where 
her head hit the hard surface with a satisfying thud. She sank to the floor 
and did not move. 

Daphene stood there panting. Her first thought was to get dressed and flee. 
But then another idea stuck her and she smiled. Quickly she race through the 
house to the den when did indeed find Cathy astride the horse. Greg had set 
up a wooden plank between two sawhorses. Cathy, naked as slavegirl usually 
were around this house, was sitting on the thin plank, her arms pulled up 
behind her back and tied so that she couldn't lower them. Each leg had been 
bound doubled so that she couldn't reach the floor with her feet even 
through it was only a short distance below her. An additional rope from her 
neck collar to an overhead ring assured that she wouldn't try to throw 
herself sideways off the horse. The girl looked very uncomfortable. 

"Do you want to get out of here?" Daphene quickly asked her. 

The girl obviously did not expect that question. And not from a naked girl 
she had last seen bound up in the bedroom. "Well ... Yes. This is not what I 
thought it would be." Daphene began working rapidly at untying the ropes 
holding the naked girl on the horse. "Greg was so nice at first. And being 
tied up by him was exciting. But suddenly he wouldn't untie me. Then he 
whipped me and told me that I was his slave and would be for the rest of my 
life. You know," she said innocently to Daphene, "I think he is serious." 

"He's serious. And you'd be whipped and tortured until you're no longer 
young and pretty. There, that's the last rope on your legs. Can you stand 
up?" 

"Sure. This is the first time I've been free of ropes or chains for days." 

"You had it easy." 

"Huh?" 

"Don't worry," said Daphene. "Let's get out of here. Where are your 
clothes?" 

"Last I saw them they were in the bedroom." The two naked girls hurried back 
to the bedroom. 

Denise was still unconscious on the floor. Daphene was glad to see that. 

"She's not dead, is she?" asked Cathy. 

"No, but she's not going to be out for long. We'd best hurry. Find you 
clothes." 

"Why don't we just tie up Denise," said Cathy brightly. 

"Then we don't have to hurry looking for our clothes." 

"Good idea," replied Daphene. "But let's not just tie her up." 

"What's you mean?" 

"She wanted to leave you riding the horse all day, didn't she?" 

"That's what she said. That horse thing hurt. And all day on it would be 
terrible." 

"Right. Want to help me carry Denise into the den?" It was hard work but 
they managed to get the French girl into the den, stripped and on the horse 
before she woke up. Daphene thought it was poetic justice that they were 
leaving her in the same position as she would have left Cathy. And Daphene 
the next day. 

She was yelling French obscenities at them as they forced the gag into her 
mouth. Daphene noted that Cathy tightened down the straps with a savage 
viciousness. They checked all the ropes to assure themselves that she would 
not be able to free herself until that night when Greg returned home. Then 
they the whining and very unhappy French girl alone to her fate. Greg 
probably wouldn't be too happy to find that she'd let his two slaves get 
away. In fact, Daphene considered it likely that Denise would become his new 
slavegirl. 

In the taxi driving away from Greg's house, the finally had a chance to 
settle down, catch their breath and consider what they would do now. Cathy 
wanted to be taken to her apartment. She assured Daphene that she would be 
alright, even if Greg came looking for her. They diverted the taxi to drop 
her off. Daphene wished her luck and told her to be careful. They waved 
goodbye after Cathy gave sincere thanks for being rescued. 

Daphene knew what she wanted to do as she gave orders to the cabby. 

The California sunshine was wonderful as Daphene climbed aboard Brian's 
yacht. She found Charles down in the lounge and threw her arms around him to 
hug him. 

"Please, Miss Daphene. I am, after all, only a servant." 

"And a servant who is going to serve me right now." With a smile she tossed 
off her clothes and kicked off her shoes. "Charles, this is what I want you 
to do." 

"Will there be anything else, miss?" said Charles at the door. 

Daphene shook her head. Charles left and she settled back against the wall. 
She sighed deeply and felt happy. Under her instructions, Charles had bound 
her into that arm holder that Brian had made for her, including the chain 
between her legs cutting deeply into her sex. That took care of her arms for 
they were then tightly clamped behind her back. Then she had him bind her 
legs together, ankles, above and below the knees. She begged him to make the 
ropes as tight as he could, an act she now considered a bit rash as she 
looked down to see how deeply the cords were indented into her flesh. Then 
she asked for a neck collar. Standing on very uncomfortably bound legs, she 
had him chain her neck collar to a ring in the wall near the ceiling. 
Finally she had ordered the gag, tightly strapped in place. 

Daphene sighed and wondered what she looked like. For the rest of the day up 
she would be forced to stand there, unable to move at all. Brian would come 
in to find a very helpless, very uncomfortable, and very silent naked girl. 

And attached to the nipple of her right breast by a clothespin was a small 
note that read: 

Master, I'll take three weeks out of four. 

Love, your slavegirl 

Daphene 


THE END
